


Tutelage

by DeandraAlleyan



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Eothiriel - Freeform, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:33:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26304934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeandraAlleyan/pseuds/DeandraAlleyan
Summary: Lothiriel happily lived her life vicariously through her reading, but then she met Eomer of Rohan, and found not everything was contained in her beloved books.tutelage - the act or process of imparting knowledge or skills to another
Relationships: Éomer Éadig/Lothíriel
Comments: 25
Kudos: 41





	1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

(16 July, 3019 III)

Despite what she had read, Lothiriel was not entirely prepared for the approach to Minas Tirith from the Harlond. As her carriage drew near the battered city, she leaned out the window for a better look, imagining the events unfolding before her eyes, though she had not been here to witness them personally.

 _The Captains of the West leading their host towards the City…the great gate missing, but a barrier placed across the entrance…her cousin, Faramir, standing with Hurin and other captains of Gondor, awaiting their approach…the Lady Eowyn of Rohan and other of the Rohirrim also arrayed nearby…and a great press of people bedecked in colorful raiment and wearing garlands of flowers._ Oh! It must have been magnificent to see such!

 _And, then, the hush that fell as out from the host stepped the Dunadain in silver and grey…slowly led by the Lord Aragorn, clad in black mail girt with silver, wearing a long mantle of pure white, clasped at the throat with a great jewel of green stone. The King! With him were Eomer of Rohan and her own father, Prince Imrahil, as well as Gandalf and the four Hobbits!_ Oh, how she wished she might have seen it! But the historians had done a fair job, and she could well imagine it in her mind’s eye.

“Lothiriel?”

Her brother’s voice jolted her from her reverie, and she blinked at him, riding alongside the carriage. “Yes?” she asked, slightly annoyed at the interruption.

“Is something wrong, sister? Why do you lean from the carriage so? What has captured your attention?” Erchirion looked around trying to spy something of great interest in their vicinity.

“I am well, brother. I was just thinking what it must have been like to witness that exciting day, when the king returned and Faramir handed over rule of the City to him!” she gushed enthusiastically.

He bit back a grin, and smiled tolerantly at her. “It was marvelous indeed, but it will be less so if you fall from the carriage and take an injury! Do be seated safely inside.”

She scowled at him, but did as he bid her, flipping open her book once more to reread of the events she had just been pondering. Perhaps later she could slip away and wander through the city, to visit the other places the writer had mentioned in his tales of the War and its aftermath.

As soon as the carriage entered the city, however, Lothiriel was back at the window scanning around her for signs of damage. She knew much had already been done to remove the scars and repair the devastation, but surely there was some lingering indication of battle.

 _Fires now raged unchecked in the first circle of the City, and the garrison upon the outer wall was already in many places cut off from retreat. But the faithful who remained there at their posts were few; most had fled beyond the second gate._ Before they reached that gate, she finally glimpsed some scorch marks on hard-to-reach walls. And, come to think of it, there did seem to be fewer buildings on this level than she recalled from her previous visits. Likely some had been torn down and removed, and not yet replaced with new constructions.

Sitting back, she pondered what it must have been like to be here during the siege. She knew that only a few women had remained in the city. Only those skilled in healing, or able to assist the healers, had been permitted to tarry and offer assistance. She shivered as she thought of them; how valiant they must be to weather such horrors. She was not at all sure she could have done so, even if she had the skills that would have allowed it.

Too quickly, the carriage reached her father’s townhouse on the fifth level, and drew to a stop by the entrance to the courtyard. A servant helped her down, and Imrahil stepped over to welcome her. “Dearest! I am so pleased to have you here. I have missed you most dreadfully, but Elessar has had much need of counsel as he seeks to restore the White City to her former glory, and see her people secured.”

Lothiriel flung her arms about him, hugging him tightly. “I have missed you also, Father! I am so glad you are well.” 

As she finally released him and stepped back, his eyes fell on the book in her hand, and he gave a chuckle as he shook his head. “I see some things have not changed!” He nodded toward the book and she blushed guiltily. 

“I have been reading about the War, so I might know what to expect,” she defended, and he allowed her the pretense.

Changing subjects, he wrapped an arm about her shoulders and led her toward the house. “Come inside. I have dinner being prepared. Eomer should be arriving any day now, and then we will travel to Rohan for King Theoden’s funeral. It will be a long and tiring journey, dearest, so you ought to take rest while you can.”

She digested this information as they walked. Her father had summoned them to Minas Tirith, but not said explicitly what the reason was, so this announcement was unexpected, but decidedly welcome. Rohan! Oh, there would be so much to see, both along the way and once she got there. Mentally she began reviewing the books she had brought as to which might tell her the most about that land and, after a moment, she decided a visit to the library would be in order. She hoped it had not been damaged too severely or, worse, destroyed.

They had reached the stairs, and she bid her father a hasty farewell as she scurried up to wash her face and hands before the meal. Perhaps she would be able to slip away this afternoon and peruse the library. Hopefully her family would not insist that she attend some boring gathering with them…

xxx

This was frustrating! How could Minas Tirith’s library, the finest in all of Gondor, if not all of Middle-earth, have so little on Rohan and its history! Oh, there was a good deal about treaties and battles and such, but not about the people and their history. She wanted to know who they were and how their lives differed from hers. All their stories of valor seemed to involve war – surely there were stories also to be heard of romance and intrigue! She cast an unseen scowl at the librarian, who had been less than sympathetic to her plight. He merely explained that the Rohirrim were far more likely to keep verbal histories, capturing such things in songs, than to write them in books, and Gondorian scholars had not much pursued doing it for their neighbors.

Well, at least she had discovered a fairly decent map, that the man had assured her he _thought_ was reasonably accurate! Such incompetence! Whyever was he employed here! Settling at an out-of-the-way table, she spread out the few books she had gathered, using some to hold down the edges of the map. Adding to her annoyance, the man had informed her she could not take any of these things from the library, as they only had the one copy of each and could not risk loss or damage! At least he had been willing to let her have some sheets of paper and a pencil. She would just have to copy what she could glean from her readings. Deciding the map was the unwieldiest of her bounty, she first set to work sketching it out. That would familiarize her with the land before she began to read of it…

Two hours later, a shadow fell over the book she was reading, and she glanced up in annoyance to instruct whoever was there to move. It was Amrothos, and he stood gazing accusingly at her with his arms crossed. Ignoring his posture, she calmly told him, “You are blocking my light!”

“And _you_ are going to make us late for having supper with the king and queen if you do not come home at once and change!” he retorted.

His words made her pause. Not that she cared all that much about attending a boring state feast, but this would make for her first glimpse of Elves, and the new king and queen, and hobbits… Resolutely she shut the book she was reading, slipping a bit of paper in to mark her place. Hastily she gathered everything up and took it to the librarian, who was reluctant but eventually agreed to her persistent demands that he set the materials aside for her, so she would be able to return and easily resume her study of them.

Amrothos made no comment on her activities, merely hustling her out of the building as quickly as possible. They were soon home and Lothiriel raced to her room, thinking not of what to wear but of what she would witness this night. Her maidservant had laid out clothing already, and quickly began seeing her washed and properly attired, though clearly she did not have Lothiriel’s attention through any of it. When she finished, Lothiriel cast her an absentminded smile and ‘Thank you’ before returning out the door to meet her family in the lower foyer.

As they walked, Lothiriel discovered that tonight was not to be a feast as she had thought, but rather a smaller gathering at the king’s house with just a select group. At first this information dismayed her, but then she decided it would be much easier to make a close study of the guests in such a limited setting than if they were in the great Hall of Feasts. She knew once the King of Rohan arrived, there would yet be feasting for a larger gathering, so she still had that to which she might look forward.

They were just entering the Court of the Fountain when she became aware of her surroundings. She skidded to a halt and gave a gasp at the sight she beheld. “The tree!” she exclaimed in awe. She had not come to the Citadel all that often in her life, but every time she had, it had been disheartening to see the dead, barren tree in the midst of the fountain. Now, instead, there stood a vibrant sapling, more than three feet tall and blossoming in a most healthy manner!

Her father smiled indulgently as he caught her elbow and urged her on. “Yes, dearest. I had forgotten you had not yet seen it. But another time, if you please. We are late!”

She stumbled after him, still craning her neck to look back at the tree fading into the twilight. Finally she lost sight of it around the corner of the Tower Hall, and turned her attention back to their destination. So much! There was so very much to see! How on earth could she ever take it all in! And she must find books to explain how this had come to be…

This was her very first visit to the King’s House. It was evident that her father and brothers had better acquaintance with the place, but she gazed about in wonder. And then they were approaching the king and queen. Oh, he was just as the books had described him, and the Elf also! _‘…so high and glad of face, kingly, lord of Men, dark-haired with eyes of grey’_ Yes, certainly that! Oh, he was magnificent! And could there be anyone more beautiful than the Elf-woman smiling serenely beside him?

“Your majesties, may I introduce my daughter, Lothiriel,” Imrahil said, offering a bow.

His words broke her reverie, and hastily Lothiriel dropped into the expected curtsy, executing it somewhat less than flawlessly in her haste. A smile twitched at the man’s mouth, but he did not seem displeased with her lack of finesse as he reached to take her hand, and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “My dear lady, it is a very great pleasure. Your father and brothers have spoken most warmly of you, so much that I almost feel as though I know you already.”

Lothiriel’s breath caught in her throat and her eyes went wide. He was so…so charming! He was wondrous! “Thank…thank you, my lord! The pleasure is all mine!” she squeaked, annoyed with her discomfiture.

Now the queen stepped forward likewise and took her hand, but leaned to place a kiss on her cheek. “Welcome, Lady Lothiriel, to our home,” she said quietly, her words sounding almost musical.

Lothiriel gulped and gave a broad smile, but was able to utter nothing more than a less-than-satisfying repeat of, “Thank you! It is an honor!”

Her brothers moved forward then, to give greeting also, and she stepped aside to make way, still trying to assimilate all that was happening. In a daze, Lothiriel let herself be ushered into the small dining chamber by Erchirion, where her eyes fell upon another intriguing sight – halflings! _For they are a little people, smaller than Dwarves: less stout and stocky, that is, even when they are not actually much shorter. Their height is variable, ranging between two and four feet of our measure._

Her brow wrinkled as she remembered her readings on them. Mostly it seemed true – these four were rather small and stocky – but two of them seemed quite a bit taller than four feet, maybe even four and a half feet or slightly more. Even one of the others was easily four feet if not a tad over.

 _They dressed in bright colours, being notably fond of yellow and green; but they seldom wore shoes, since their feet had tough leathery soles and were clad in a thick curling hair, much like the hair of their heads, which was commonly brown._ Yes, yes, that was so! All four wore some shade of green in their clothing, and none wore shoes. She had to resist the urge to stare at the unusual appendages with the thick hair curling on them.

King Elessar was making introductions, and she drew her attention back to what was happening. Her brothers and father were already acquainted with the foursome and were cordially greeting them, but at last it was her turn and she stepped forward eagerly. The fairest of the four was called Frodo, and he had bright eyes and a cleft in his chin. Even so, there was a sadness in his eyes. This was the Ringbearer, she recalled, and she could not help wondering at what he must have suffered, but she was not comfortable attempting to draw him out on that subject. Perhaps her family could tell her more of the details later on. Beside Frodo stood the stoutest of the four. His name was given as Samwise Gamgee, and his manner was much more down to earth. He seemed the most humble and ill at ease, though she found him quite endearing.

The final two stood together, impishly grinning at her. They were also the tallest, taller than she had been led to expect. Though brown did seem to be the usual color of hair for halflings, one of these had hair that was almost golden. Both had wide smiles, and they elbowed each other to be the first to greet her and kiss her hand. She liked them immediately. One could almost think they were children, by their looks and their antics, but she knew that both were actually older than she was.

Barely having adjusted to this meeting, she was now presented to a most unusual sight – an Elf and a Dwarf, that stood side by side in an obviously friendly companionship. This could only be two more of the Nine Walkers, Legolas and Gimli. She offered them her finest curtsy as she was introduced. The Elf was all she had expected of the fair folk and more. Could a man possibly be any more…beautiful than this? That thought in her mind, she was startled when the object of her admiration addressed her with similar appreciation.

“In you, even more than your family, I see evidence of the rumored connection between your kinfolk and the Elves. You would not be out of place in any of the Elven realms, my lady,” he observed quietly, giving her a gentle smile.

The Dwarf let out a throaty chuckle. “What a charmer you are, laddie! See, you already have the little girl blushing!”

Lothiriel blinked at being classified as a ‘little girl’, but the Dwarf gave no indication of intending to offend, so she ignored the remark. Perhaps in his lands anyone so young as she would be deemed such.

Queen Arwen was now directing all to the table and, though Lothiriel was used to assigned seating, that was not the case here. Each was settling in whatever chair they first reached, or with whomever they desired to converse. Only the king and queen seemed to have a fixed place, and they took their seats at the head of the table. 

Lothiriel found herself across from the two more cheerful hobbits, Merry and Pippin, and she watched in astonishment as the food began to arrive. In short order, both had heaping plates, and they did not take long to work their way through the sizable portions and reach for seconds. To her right, Samwise was also eating heartily, though she caught a few murmured remarks about the food and ways in which it could be prepared more tastily. For the most part, Frodo remained silent through much of the meal, though he did respond whenever anyone addressed him. 

Legolas proved the quieter of the unlikely twosome, which did not surprise her a great deal, but Lothiriel did not expect the occasional sarcastic remark he made to his stout friend, and which never failed to make the Dwarf laugh heartily. Not that Gimli required much encouragement to laugh. He seemed a most jovial fellow, particularly once he got some ale into him, and she noticed that most in the room tended to look on his rough manners with a rather fond gaze. In anyone else, she suspected they would not be quite so tolerant, but this particular individual was clearly dear to them.

Unlike many evenings dining with nobility, this one was most pleasant to Lothiriel’s way of thinking, though she yet had many questions she desperately wanted to ask. Everyone in the gathering had been so comfortable together that she had felt a bit like an outsider, and thus was uncharacteristically quiet and reserved. Still, having discovered that all present would be making the trek to Rohan in a few days, she knew she would have further opportunity to speak with them and make exciting discoveries. Other than her family members, virtually every one of them could have walked straight out of the pages of her books – Elves, Dwarves, Hobbits, and even the king was a Dunadain Ranger from the north originally! As the night was coming to an end fairly early, she looked forward to getting home so she could reread passages in several of her books to compare to what her own eyes and ears had taken in this evening.

_TBC_

Caladael – “pool of light”  
Edre – “stream”  
Durraen – “dark wanderer”  
Theodhild – “people’s battle”  
Tortleoth – "bright song"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Note 1: The parts in italic, where Lothiriel is “imagining” seeing things she has read about, are paraphrases taken directly from Tolkien. Tolkien’s descriptions are reworked into being Lothiriel’s “thoughts”. In some places, others will describe things that happened and their words will also be direct or paraphrased quotes from Tolkien, though that will not be evident from any markings._
> 
> _Additionally, although the Appendix indicates Eomer returned to M.T. for Theoden on July 18 and left on the 19th, that does not match the actual text. Aragorn tells Frodo they will leave in 7 days, and that Eomer will be there in 3. That leaves 4 days for Eomer to remain before heading back to Rohan. Also, the text says the trip took 15 days, which would not be the case if they left on the 19th, since they arrive on Aug. 7. So they must have left on July 22._
> 
> _Note 2: Okay, since many of you also write LOTR stories, you may find this useful. I recalled recently seeing something indicating when Faramir and Eowyn were married, but couldn’t remember where. And then someone mentioned they thought they had read somewhere that F/E had married at Edoras. So I finally started digging to see what I could come up with on that._
> 
> _First, Faramir and Eowyn: In LOTR, we know they trothplighted in Edoras on Aug. 10, but no other details are given that indicates when/where they actually married._
> 
> _In “History of Middle-earth, vol 12”, on pg 207 it says that Faramir wed Eowyn in 3020, and then on pg 244 it says he “wed Eowyn in 3020 in the king’s house in Rohan”._
> 
> _It would make more sense to me that they would wed at the home of the highest ranking of the pair, which would be Faramir in this case. I have tended to have them marrying in the autumn of 3019 prior to this._
> 
> xx
> 
> _Second, Eomer and Lothiriel: In LOTR, Appendix A, part II, it says that “In the last year of the Third Age he wedded Lothiriel”. Thain’s Book online indicates that they married in 3020._
> 
> _In “History of Middle-earth, vol 12”, on pg 244 it says “Eomer married Lothiriel in 3022 (or Fourth Age 1)”._
> 
> _There are a couple of problems here. One is how we interpret what Tolkien meant by “last year of the Third Age”, and there are quite a few possibilities to choose from on that. Additionally, in this case the information in the Appendix would seem to contradict what is found in HoME (particularly since it seems to specifically indicate that 3022 was the first year of the Fourth Age)._
> 
> _So, it is up to you whether or not to consider HoME as canon or not. As for me, I likely will continue as I have been, and primarily stick to the actual text/appendix information as my “canon”, though I may use other information if it suits a given storyline to do so. Others will have a different opinion on the matter._
> 
> _Tolkien sometimes contradicted himself, and often seems to have changed his mind on details, so I don’t know that minor changes to what he wrote should be considered “AU”. And just the variations in Tolkien’s different writings about Middle-earth rather invites us to explore any or all of the various possibilities._
> 
> _Still, I think we have a lot of leeway, whatever we decide upon. But I pass this along for what it may be worth to anyone else._


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

(17 Jul, 3019 III)

The next day proved rather quiet. Her father was in various meetings, and her brothers had wandered off who knew where. She did not mind particularly as it gave her an opportunity to return to the library, and continue making her notes about Rohan. Supper was a subdued affair at home, though their cousin, Faramir, joined them and spent the evening telling them much of his lady. The rest of her family had met Eowyn briefly, and knew something of her personally, but as she was not returning to Minas Tirith with her brother to retrieve Theoden’s body, Lothiriel would have to wait until they reached Edoras to see the woman for herself. Faramir had remained unmarried for so long that she was most eager to meet the woman who could capture his heart, particularly since said woman seemed so remarkable. A woman riding into battle disguised as a man! She had never heard of such a thing, but oh the tales the woman could likely tell her. She hoped Eowyn proved to be as agreeable as Faramir and the others deemed her, for she had many questions to ask.

She was fortunate that she had exhausted the library’s information on Rohan that day, because the next day proved too busy for her to slip away. Her family kept her occupied most of the morning and then, not long after the noon meal, the Rohirrim were due to arrive. Many in the city were eager to witness their return, and she was looking forward to watching them from the walls. Perhaps it would be a little like it had been when they rode into view on that fateful morning in March, coming to aid the White City and vanquish the enemy. As soon as the noon-day meal ended, she hurried off to find a good spot on the wall before all the best places were taken. She had induced Amrothos to join her, though he was not nearly so fascinated by the event as she. 

“Will they blow their horns, do you think?” she asked, scanning the horizon.

Her brother chuckled. “I should doubt it. Perhaps once to announce their arrival when they are fairly close, but they are not leading a charge, Lothiriel! How you do let your imagination run away with you!”

“I understand they sing when they ride into battle. Did you get to hear them?” she queried, ignoring his admonishment.

Sighing resignedly, he nodded. “Yes, I heard them. It was a marvelous thing to behold. All the horns in the host were lifted up in music, and the blowing of the horns of Rohan in that hour was like a storm upon the plain and a thunder in the mountains. They began to ride forward as the dawn broke, and the enemy was clearly alarmed at the sight. Then all the host of Rohan burst into song, and they sang as they slew, and the sound of their singing was both fair and terrible. It could even be heard in the City. Orcs were flying towards the River like herds before the hunters; and the Rohirrim went hither and thither destroying them. But they had not yet overthrown the siege, nor won the Gate.” He fell silent and then blinked as though coming out of a dream, giving his sister a rueful grin. “You catch us all up in your imaginings, Lothiriel!” he commented with slight embarrassment.

Lothiriel eyed him with a raised brow of surprise. His words had almost been poetic as he described the scene, but they seemed oh so fitting to what she thought it must have been like. Just then, both were distracted as a horn blew in the distance, and one replied from Ecthelion’s tower. “They are here,” Amrothos told her quietly, turning to look over the Pelennor. After a moment, he pointed. “There.”

Her eyes followed the direction he indicated, and she could make out a host of riders moving slowly toward the city. “The main body will camp on the Pelennor, and only the king and a small escort will actually enter the city. They will rest a few days, and then we all leave early in the morning four days hence to begin the journey back.” After a moment, he glanced at her and added, “Keep that in mind. You will not want to stay up all night reading, dearest. You have never taken such a long trip as this will be. You will find it far more tiring than you would think just riding in a carriage. Get what rest you can now.”

“Oh! May I not ride a horse like everyone else?” she exclaimed.

He laughed. “No! This will not be a gentle riding out! If you sat a saddle that long, you would be unable to move. I will wager that many of our people will find it taxing also, even if they are more used to riding than you. We will have to travel slowly to accommodate the wain and the carriages, and that is even more tiring for man and beast than moving quickly. You will be far better off in a carriage for the duration.” Then, seeing her disappointment, he added consolingly, “Perhaps once we arrive I will borrow a horse and take you riding if you like.”

That offer seemed to appease her, and they turned back to watch the Rohirrim drawing closer. At length, Amrothos straightened and told her, “I think I shall ride out to meet Eomer with Father. I will see you later, dearest.” He pressed a kiss to her temple and left, but Lothiriel’s attention had already returned to watching the activity far below her vantage point.

The nearer they came, the more clearly they could be seen, but it seemed as though she was actually seeing less. As the encampment began to fall out and form their place on the plains, she saw a mounted party exit from the city and ride toward a smaller group separating themselves to continue on from amongst the Rohirrim. The two groups met and she could imagine there was much welcoming banter taking place. Then, after several long moments, all turned and began riding back toward the entrance. She watched until they disappeared from her sight far below, and then stood contemplating all she had witnessed. Abruptly, she realized that, if she hurried to the seventh level, she would be able to watch Rohan’s king greet her own royals, and perhaps could even meet him herself. 

Lifting her skirts she hurried from the wall, and dashed up through the streets. Slowing to a walk before she reached the gate to the highest level of the city, the guards did not hinder her, having recognized her as Imrahil’s daughter. She slipped in and made her way to a spot near the tower steps. Already many of the nobility were beginning to gather for the occasion, though the king and queen had not yet put in appearance.

Moments after she claimed a goodly spot, she glimpsed the Elf and Dwarf arriving. They took up a position somewhat opposite her. Gimli did not seem to have noticed her, but Legolas’ eyes fell upon her and a grin tweaked his mouth as he gave her a nod of recognition. She smiled brightly in return, but then was distracted as the tall door of polished metal began to open – Elessar and Arwen were coming! Both looked as exquisite as she recalled from supper the other night. If anything the Elf-woman was even more beautiful in the light of day. It near took her breath away to see such perfection. 

A clattering of hooves, then, caught her notice and she turned to see the party of horsemen riding into the courtyard. In the lead came her father, and beside him a very tall man, wearing a shiny helm with a white horsetail affixed to the peak of it. Her father was quite tall, but this man had a few inches on him she was sure, even without the helmet. He was very broad-shouldered, though how much of it was his armor she could not be sure, and his face was set in a solemn demeanor. To her eyes, he seemed quite grim, and she shivered slightly. Despite how warmly her family spoke of this man, he seemed most intimidating by her reckoning.

The king and her father dismounted, moving quickly forward to greet Elessar, who had descended the steps to meet them. For an instant, it looked as though they would offer greeting in the formal, prescribed manner, but suddenly Gondor’s king grinned and pulled the other man into his embrace. She had heard that the two were close friends, and their actions seemed to bear this out. King Eomer’s face now wore a grin also, and it improved his looks immeasurably, though it did not entirely dispel his forbidding appearance.

Once salutations were extended and Queen Arwen warmly greeted as well, the party moved inside the tower hall, and Lothiriel slowly turned away with the rest of the crowd that was beginning to disperse. If this was the king, what ever could his sister be like? Faramir energetically proclaimed her beautiful and desirable, but could any sibling of someone such as this be so? She shivered again, and tried to believe that her family was right, and that she was getting a wrong impression of the young king. 

She could not argue that he was a most handsome man, possibly one of the handsomest she had ever seen, and to her eyes he bore all the marks one would expect in a great warrior. He would not be out of place in the pages of any of the books she had read that dealt with heroic adventures. Well she could imagine him as Beren, going after the Silmaril despite the great danger, or even as Eorl riding to war in defense of Gondor so very long ago. She knew this man had already achieved similar acts of valor; indeed, Gondor was greatly indebted not only to his slain uncle, King Theoden, but to Eomer who had ridden beside him.

With a soft sigh, she turned toward home. She would meet him tonight, and perhaps then she would gain a more favorable impression of him as being agreeable. 

xxxxx

“My lady? Which gown did you wish to wear tonight?” the maidservant inquired, causing Lothiriel to finally look up from her book. She had settled in the window seat nearly an hour ago, her feet up on the bench and her back leaning against the wall, hardly the image of a refined young lady.

“Hmmm? Oh, I do not care. Choose any of them,” she remarked offhandedly, turning back to her reading.

“But, my lady! There will be Elves and all manner of dignitaries there this night! You must look your very best!” Caladael exclaimed. She attended Lady Lothiriel every time her family came to the City, but she still could not quite fathom why the girl was so disinterested in _normal_ things, such as hair and clothes and looking one’s best to attract prospective suitors from among the nobility. Perhaps it was the lack of a mother’s influence during her growing up years.

Lothiriel waved her hand impatiently, still studying the book in her lap. “All of my gowns are very fine, Caladael. It hardly matters overly much which of them I wear, but as you deem it important, I charge you with deciding.”

With a sigh of disapproval, Caladael turned to the wardrobe and began perusing the gowns hanging there. At length, she drew forth an elegant gown of shimmering, deep blue material. The summer weather called for lighter weight attire, but dark blue looked exceptionally well on the young lady, and since it was also one of Dol Amroth’s colors, it was especially appropriate tonight. Additionally, she fetched various items to accent the gown – a strand of pearls that had belonged to Lothiriel’s mother, a silken white shawl in case the evening turned cooler, and various clips and adornments for her hair. Once everything was collected, she moved to stand imperiously in front of her charge, saying, “We must get you ready now, my lady, or you will be late, and that would never do.”

Scowling with annoyance, Lothiriel reluctantly laid aside her book, and allowed the maid’s ministrations to begin. The woman was quick and efficient at her task, and in only half an hour, Lothiriel stood ready to depart. Stepping back, Caladael looked her up and down, checking one final time for anything amiss, but finding nothing. “You are quite beautiful, my lady. I am sure your father will be pleased.” 

She gave a polite curtsy, that Lothiriel acknowledged absentmindedly as she fidgeted with the shawl. It was a long piece of material that could be worn about the shoulders for warmth, but at present was adjusted to cross over her chest and drape evenly down the back, out of her way. Two clever clips held it at the shoulders to keep it in place until she was ready to rearrange it. But Lothiriel’s thoughts were not on the clothes she wore. There would be no dancing tonight, for which she was grateful. It would offer her a better opportunity to study the other guests, and determine how well they matched what she had read about them. She was to have a new opportunity to more closely observe not only the Elves, but the Dwarf and Hobbits as well. Hobbits! She had almost thought them to be creatures merely of legend, yet she had already dined with them once and they would be here again. Not just any hobbits, though, but four of the nine walkers. Ai! And, this time, the Lady of the Golden Wood, Galadriel, would be here, along with her husband. There was so much to see tonight. She was not sure she would be able to take it all in.

A knock at the door, interrupted her anticipatory thoughts, and Caladael moved to answer it. It was Amrothos, come to escort her to the hall, and she quickly went to join him, eager for the evening to begin. The youngest son of Imrahil eyed his sister with raised eyebrow. “My word, Lothiriel! How beautiful you have become, or have I merely been blind before this?”

Involuntarily, she blushed. Her brothers rarely spoke to her in such a manner as this, and she was quite at a loss as to how to react. All in all, she thought she preferred their teasing. That was comfortable and familiar. Taking his arm, she murmured, “I am sure I look the same as always, brother.”

He grinned down at her as they moved along the hallway. “Perhaps so, but any noblemen who failed to notice you before will hardly do so this night. Maybe you will even catch the eye of Rohan’s king. He is a young man and in need of a wife.”

“Amrothos! Do not say such things! You know I am not looking to secure a husband. Please do not embarrass me with any remarks to encourage his interest! I…I saw him arrive. He is big and…and frightening!”

Amrothos blinked. “Eomer? Frightening? What ever do you mean? I grant you he is a large man, and a most fearsome warrior on the battlefield, but he has excellent manners, and once you see him with his sister you will think far better of him. He is a fine man, and Father would not be at all displeased to see a union between the two of you.”

Lothiriel shivered. “Live in Rohan? Does Father truly wish me to go so far from him? And, if I did, I would be _queen_! I could never be a queen! I know nothing about ruling a country or…or…anything like that!”

Amrothos raised an eyebrow at her and commented wryly, “If you know nothing about that sort of thing, it is not for lack of Father trying to see you are taught it. If you would just get your nose out of books once in a while, you might learn the proper skills a lady of your standing needs to have. The daughter of Dol Amroth’s prince would, _should_ , be eminently suitable to be a queen. More than any _other_ lady of high rank!”

Clutching his arm tighter, she leaned her head against it as she pulled him momentarily to a stop. Looking up she answered, “I know that, brother, but still it frightens me. I…I do not wish to disappoint Father, but I just…I just cannot do it!” 

Her eyes implored understanding of him. In many ways, he did understand, but he also knew her place in the world, and what was expected of her. She was young yet. Perhaps a few more years would change things, and she would be more ready to fill her intended spot in the scheme of things. He gave her a reassuring smile. “Do not despair, dearest! We love you as you are, but you do need to make more effort. You must try!”

They started moving again, and she did not reply. Her family was wonderful, but they just did not understand how it was for her. She simply could not be content to do little more than worry about finding a new dress for the next feast or dance that was held. In her books, she found astonishing worlds, and even read of exciting deeds in her own world, though outside her own experience. Parties and dances held little attraction for her, and the noblemen who attended them merely wasted her time, when she could better be employing it with a book to read.

Almost before she was ready, they had reached the Hall of Feasts, and Lothiriel drew a deep, steadying breath as they entered. As children of Prince Imrahil, they were accorded every courtesy, and they had quickly bypassed the line of nobles awaiting entrance. Once inside, Amrothos scanned the room for their father, and then guided his sister to where Imrahil stood, talking with Eomer and Faramir.

Imrahil’s back was to them, but both the other men looked up at their approach. Faramir smiled warmly at his cousins, while Eomer gave a nod of recognition to Amrothos and then allowed his gaze to flicker over the woman on his arm. Though there was nothing inappropriate in his look, it still made Lothiriel blush slightly. Imrahil turned to see what had caught his companions’ notice and smiled, reaching to draw them into the circle of conversation. “Eomer, my son you know, but allow me to introduce my daughter, Lothiriel. Lothiriel, this Eomer, King of Rohan.”

Instantly, Lothiriel dropped into a deep curtsy, though she bobbled slightly as she rose from it. “It is a very great honor, your majesty!” She flashed him a brilliant smile, trying to suppress the nervousness that had her stomach lurching wildly. Oh, but he was _very_ tall, indeed! Even without armor, he was a powerfully built man, and she almost thought he could crush her with one hand.

The smile that had so improved his appearance earlier today reappeared, and he gave a short bow to her. “The honor is all mine, my lady. Your family speaks much of you, and I see nothing to suggest their praise is unwarranted.”

She blushed again, even more so because she got the sense that this was not a man who would falsely flatter. Elessar joined them then, distracting the group from her and allowing her time to recover from her discomfiture. Much of the remainder of the evening passed in a daze. Her eyes felt overloaded by wondrous sights, and her ears strained to catch every conversation she could. She was too overwhelmed to approach any of the other guests, but at least she managed not to embarrass herself too greatly when any of them spoke to her and she needed to respond.

Faramir seemed to have recognized her reaction, and made an effort to stay near her as a steadying influence. At one point, as the evening was drawing to a close, he asked, “Have you done your reading on Rohan in preparation for our journey, cousin?”

She nodded eagerly. “I have! Well, as much as is possible! Minas Tirith’s library is woefully inadequate on that subject.” She gave a sigh of annoyance, causing him to grin.

“Perhaps…I believe there is a book in my library about Rohan. I do not know if it will contain much you have not already learned, but if I am able to find it before we leave, I will pack it so you may read it along the way,” he offered.

“Oh, that would be wonderful! Thank you!” she exclaimed, thrilled at the prospect of a new book to examine.

A bell sounded then, signaling the end of the festivities, and all began saying their farewells before withdrawing. It was earlier than most such evenings ended, but Elessar knew his guests from the north would be weary after the long ride behind them, and the one yet to come.

xxxxx

Lothiriel sighed. After three days of travel in a carriage, she was very sorry she had not done more riding so that she was able to travel on horseback instead. She was certain she was missing far too much, locked away inside rather than out where things were to be seen. She had contented herself with trying to match up her map, and information of locations along their route, with what she was glimpsing from the carriage window. Her only time outside the Rammas Echor in the past had been in going or coming from the Harlond, so it was intriguing to see another view of the Pelennor, the White City and the wall that was slowly being restored.

To be sure, there had been interesting moments. King Theoden had been taken from Rath Dinen and placed on a golden bier, and then the company had passed through the City in silence. It had been almost eery to have such a busy place be so hushed, but the citizens were most grateful for the Rohirrim’s timely assistance, and they were eager to show their respects to the king who had led the Riders. Once they exited the city, the bier had been laid upon a great wain, and one of the hobbits, Merry, whom King Theoden had made his esquire, rode upon the wain, keeping the arms of the king.

She had noted that there was a certain prescribed placement for each person in the procession, and around them all there was a mighty host of captains and knights of Gondor, riding alongside their friends from Rohan. All her growing up years, she had rarely heard the Rohirrim spoken of, and then with a bit of suspicion. Though Rohan had been allies of old, as the darkness grew in the east, it seemed Gondor wasn’t sure who could be trusted or not. It didn’t help that as the War drew nearer, Steward Denethor in particular had been cautious about their neighbors to the north. Now all that was forgotten, and she was amazed to witness the camaraderie between the soldiers of Gondor and Rohan.

Indeed, her own brothers often rode in Rohan’s midst, conversing with friends they had made. Watching it made her feel like an outsider. Everyone seemed a part of this great whole except for her. She had been watching these new friends closely, to learn what she could about them since her books were so lacking, and in particular, her eyes seemed to frequently turn toward their new king. Other than his warm greeting at the feast in Minas Tirith, which had disconcerted her, she had had little more contact with him. He had been surrounded by many people then and she had not felt she could approach him, even if she found the courage to do so.

She still was not sure what to make of such a man. Upon closer examination, when he was smiling and laughing with friends, he did not seem nearly so grim and frightening; and, yet, his size alone, tied to a forceful personality, still made him intimidating, at least in her eyes. She found herself torn between curiosity about him, and nervousness at the very thought of time in his company. She hoped that by the time their journey to Edoras concluded, she would be more at ease. She did not want to miss this opportunity to learn all she could, and that included knowing something of Rohan’s king.

They were coming to a spot she had heard called Amon Din. While she was checking her map and her notations to see what she knew of the place, she became aware of a sound as of drums beating in the hills. Curious, she hastened to the window to look around, but saw no evidence of any living person. Then suddenly King Elessar had the trumpets blown, and heralds cried: _‘Behold the King Elessar is come! The Forest of Drúadan he gives to Ghân-buri-ghân and to his folk, to be their own for ever; and hereafter let no man enter it without their leave!’_ Once that was announced, the drums rolled loudly, and were silent, leaving her wondering about what she had witnessed. She determined to ask her father or brothers about it at supper. Likely they would understand the reason for such a thing, and she had read nothing that explained it.

For the remainder of the afternoon, Lothiriel occupied herself with studying what little had been written about the language of the Riddermark. She wished that it gave more indication of how the words were put together in sentences, and how they were pronounced. Whenever she had managed to edge near someone speaking the language, she had listened attentively, but they usually spoke too rapidly for her to get a good sense of it. Still she had found the words that she thought she could use to greet the Rohirrim, and she was looking forward to a chance to try it out.

When they stopped for the day, she wandered through the camp as it was being set up, taking the opportunity to smilingly greet any of the Rohirrim she came upon with a cheery, “Gewesan Hal!” She got some odd looks, but then the recipient usually smiled politely and went on their way. Assuming it was perhaps her pronunciation, she tried several variations, but still was met with the same polite response. Perhaps they were just caught off guard by a Gondorian speaking their language.

At length, she wandered back to where her own tent had been raised, and washed for supper. Her father had informed her they would be dining with the two kings tonight, and she was very much looking forward to it. Fortunately, traveling did not allow them to spend copious amounts of time in dressing and primping, for which she was grateful. She brushed out her hair and tied it back from her face, then moved to the tent flap just as her father called out a greeting. 

Together, they made their way to the king’s large pavilion. Quite a few were gathered inside and beginning to settle around two long tables that were set up. The gathering seemed to be fairly informal, and people were sitting wherever they wished, chattering away as the meal began to be served. Again, she felt almost out of place since everyone seemed so familiar with each other, but still she found it fascinating to just sit and listen, occasionally asking questions whenever there was a chance to do so.

After the meal, she and her father approached King Eomer, but Elessar pulled Imrahil aside just as they arrived. Taking a steadying breath, Lothiriel offered a curtsy to the king, who gave a short bow in response, and then ventured her new greeting, “Gewesan Hal!”

His brow knit at the words, and she would have sworn a slight grin tweaked at his mouth, though it was gone so quickly she couldn’t be sure. For a moment, he said nothing, but then finally asked politely, “Where did you learn that?”

She explained about the book she had found in Minas Tirith’s library, and that although it wasn’t as in depth as she would have liked, she had been able to glean at least that much from it. She smiled proudly at him, pleased with her cleverness. To her surprise, he ducked his head and did not immediately respond.

Finally, he stepped near and leaned close to her ear, saying softly, though with evident amusement, “I recommend you not try to learn Rohan’s language from a book! And it would be advisable to seek someone’s counsel before again testing it on your tongue!”

Surely her face reflected her irritation and confusion, but he merely straightened, then glanced around and casually told her, “The greeting should be ‘Westu hal’, my lady!” With a cocky grin, he moved away, leaving her red-faced and fuming.

She took back all the nice thoughts she had been beginning to have about the man! He was insufferable! How dare he laugh at her! She forced herself to ignore the honest little part of herself that knew she had blundered into this on her own, and likely he was doing her a favor in preventing her further misspeaking and looking a fool to others. For the next half an hour, she sulked off to the side, and then claimed a headache that allowed her to withdraw to her tent. 

Even trying to immerse herself in reading did not help her mood, and at length she snapped her book closed in irritation and readied herself for bed. Still, it was some time before she could calm her agitated thoughts and finally sleep. The next day, Faramir gave up his horse for the morning and rode with her. Only when he reclaimed his mount after the noonday meal, did she realize he had never explained his reason for doing so, and she almost suspected he had guessed at her bad mood and was attempting to cheer her. Though she hated to yield, she gave a sigh and admitted his visit with her had been most agreeable. It was very simple. She would just avoid the king of Rohan in the future, and thus circumvent any more such embarrassments. Let the man find someone else to laugh at! She did not need his approbation.

_TBC_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Someone asked when I originally posted this on fanfiction.net and some of you may be curious as well. What did Lothiriel actually say to Eomer in Rohirric? Well, my intention was that she essentially had the right words but mis-used them. I was attempting to have her conjugate the verb wrong, so she was supposed to be saying something like: "Are well" instead of "Be well"._
> 
> Caladael – “pool of light”  
> Edre – “stream”  
> Durraen – “dark wanderer”  
> Theodhild – “people’s battle”  
> Tortleoth – "bright song"


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _In case you're wondering, the "gaps" in Lothiriel's knowledge regarding the War of the Ring, and events since then, is due to my assuming that this is too soon after the War for it all to have been written and available for her to read. Over time, more will be written and she can read it then, but I tried to avoid her having any detailed information that I didn't think would yet be common knowledge._

**Chapter 3**

As the cortege entered what they called the Folde, the atmosphere of the host seemed different to Lothiriel. Despite the somber occasion, there was an excitement among the Rohirrim, and after pondering it she began to understand that they were glad to be home, whatever the circumstances. Their last night on the road, they stopped at Aldburg, the original ruling city of the Riddermark according to her notes, and Lothiriel was grateful for the opportunity for a bath and a true bed to sleep in, at least for one night. Amrothos had not exaggerated the trials of such extended traveling, and she would be very pleased to reach Edoras and not have to see a tent again for some time.

She was surprised to learn at supper that the house where they were lodging was not an inn, or a high-ranking nobleman’s house, but the ancestral home of the king himself. Erchirion had mentioned it in passing, and Faramir elaborated on it as he sat beside her, telling her that when Brego, son of Eorl the Young, built Meduseld and moved his home to Edoras, the house in Aldburg had been given to Brego’s third son, Eofor. This Eofor was an ancestor of Eomer’s father, Eomund, and so Eomer had inherited and made it his dwelling when his base of operations as Third Marshal was in Aldburg. She looked around her with more curiosity, thinking to better understand the man by observing his home. But it did not offer any appreciable clues that she could discern. While perhaps the furnishings were a bit finer than average, she could not detect anything remarkable here. It was of rough-hewn wood construction, as most of the buildings in the town seemed to be. One thing was certain though – there was little evidence of a woman’s touch. She was not at all surprised that this was the home of an unwed man. 

Once the meal had concluded, the guests began to informally mingle, and Lothiriel wandered the few rooms where they gathered in small groups talking. Having perused the furnishings, and tapestries hung on the walls, there was little else to be seen, so she found an out-of-the-way nook with a seat, and settled there. Though pockets were not common in ladies’ gowns, she had expressly had her seamstress sew one into as many of her gowns as would accommodate such. One large enough to hold a small book. Thus she could tuck something there, and if the evening proved tedious she could find a place to sit and read until it ended. She knew it displeased her father that she did not put more effort into socializing with others, but she could not stomach the often silly, pointless conversations that were held. Now she drew forth her notes on Rohan, and began going over what she had learned of Edoras, in preparation for their arrival on the morrow.

She had been happily ensconced there for only about a quarter of an hour when a shadow fell upon the page she was reading. “And what holds your attention so fixedly, my lady? Are you still attempting to learn our language?” 

She had not noticed the king approaching, but now looked up with irritation at his teasing remark. “Why do you belittle my efforts to read of Rohan, and learn more about your people?” she challenged petulantly.

Sighing, Eomer fixed her with a disconcerting gaze. “You will not find my people in the pages of your books. At best, they will only tell you of a few men or women, and only moments in their lives. It will not truly show you who they are, and why they are the way they are. You are _in_ Rohan, my lady. You would do better to speak to living, breathing people here. You would learn far more of value that way than by sitting alone off in a corner hidden behind a book!”

Lothiriel did not know how to respond to his declarations. Part of her was uncomfortably aware of the ring of truth in them, yet she could not bring herself to admit it. Just then, Imrahil joined them, seemingly unaware of the tension between the two, and drew Eomer away to review the plans for tomorrow’s arrival at Edoras, leaving his daughter flustered and annoyed. Why was the king so set on harrassing and scorning her activities? What was it to him if she liked to read? She was becoming less and less inclined to think this visit to the Riddermark was worthwhile. If all the people of Rohan were as haughty as he, then she would just as soon not be acquainted with them!

Though it was early, she left her nook and headed off to bed. Any further study would be done in private, away from scoffing looks and derisive comments.

Despite her disgruntlement, however, she could not sustain it once they drew near enough to see Meduseld high upon the hill, its thatched roof seeming to gleam golden in the sun. The building was situated on a green terrace, and there were many wooden houses on the slopes of the hill leading up to it. A quick glance at her notes reminded her that Meduseld meant “mead hall” and that feasts were held there.

She watched eagerly as they came closer. The town itself was surrounded by a great wall, and a thorny fence and a dike. A path ran from the Great West Road they were on through some mounds on either side of it and up to the town gate. There was a ford that crossed the river which ran along the west of the town and then curved east along the northern side of it. Another look at her map reminded her that the river was the Snowbourn.

As the procession drew nearer, she saw that the road out of the town was lined with townspeople, come out to pay their respects as Theoden’s body passed. Some of the women were throwing flowers in their path, and she could not help but be moved by the obvious outpouring of love for their fallen king. As they reached the first of the mounds, she could see that they were all covered by grass and a small white flower, and it took a moment of digging to recall its interesting name: simbelmyne, meaning ‘ever-mind’. She turned in the book Faramir had lent her and read, _“a small white flower that blossoms throughout the year. It grows on land where the dead are buried, particularly upon the barrows of the Kings of Rohan. The flowers are said to grow thickest on the ninth mound in the first row, where Helm Hammerhand was buried.”_ Glancing up, she tried to count where the ninth mound would be, but it was difficult to judge it properly from inside the carriage. Still, she spotted one that looked like it had the most abundant growth of flowers upon it, and decided that must be the one. 

She became aware that the Elves were stopping off to the sides as the rest of the cortege continued on into the city. Erchirion had mentioned that they would be camping outside the walls rather than staying within the town itself. He hadn’t been sure of the reason for that, but personally she thought it must be their preference for being among nature. All her associations with the Elf Legolas had indicated a great affinity for trees and growing things, and as they all seemed to live in forests of some kind, surely it would seem strange to them to be encompassed by walls.

There were people lining the road all the way up to Meduseld, and she gazed out at them in curiosity. Very few had anything other than the flaxen hair she had seen so much of lately. Some tended more to reddish tones, and there were of course quite a few gray heads, but virtually none that could even be considered brown, much less anything darker. She wondered if the dark Gondorians looked as unusual to their eyes as they did to hers.

The road they were on was paved, and there was a stream flowing down the hill beside it, in addition to some stone steps. The steps had begun at the town gate, and she rather expected they must continue all the way up to Meduseld. Once they reached the top, she saw she was correct, and also that the stream was fed from a spring that issued from a stone horse’s head at the bottom of the terrace.

Amrothos appeared to help her from the carriage and escort her inside. They climbed the long, broad stair leading up to the terrace, where there was a wide paved area in front of the door. Guards were sitting on stone seats on either side of the top step, and behind them the doors of the Hall, which were facing north, were made of wood and carved with images of beasts and birds with jewelled eyes and golden claws. Lothiriel was itching for a closer examination of the doors, but thought it might be rude to do so at just this moment, so she put the notion to the back of her mind for now. There were also pillars on either side of the door that had been hewn from mighty trees. These, too, were carved, with interlacing figures that were gilded and painted.

A beautiful woman, dressed in white, had been standing there next to a man, waiting to greet them. There was a formal ceremony of greeting for the guests, and eventually the woman was introduced as the king’s sister, Eowyn. So this, then, was the woman Faramir was to marry. Lothiriel wasn’t sure what she had expected, after all she had heard, but somehow the reality didn’t quite match whatever vague image she had formed of Eowyn. It would be interesting to become more closely acquainted with her.

Once the greetings were done, Eomer and Eowyn led them all inside the great hall. Lothiriel had visited the Citadel on quite a few occasions, so she was no stranger to grandeur. Even her own home in Dol Amroth was opulent. Meduseld was large and impressive, undoubtedly, but the interior was of wood rather than stone, and somehow it gave off a warmer feeling than the palaces of Gondor. Meduseld was a single long room inside, with a high roof that was supported by pillars, again decorated with carvings. Tilting her head to look up, she saw that there were louvers in the roof, probably to let out smoke and let in light, and light was also coming in through slitted, unglazed windows under the eaves on the eastern side of the building.

Gondor was more given to statuary and bare stone walls, but here the walls were covered with woven cloth tapestries that depicted scenes and figures, presumably from Rohan’s history. She would need to examine them more closely to try and match them to some of the information she had found, and possibly then she could identify the tales they told.

There were a number of people in front of Lothiriel as they made their way along the length of the hall, but as she neared the middle of the room she noticed there was a long hearth. Farther down, at the south end and facing the door, was a dais where three steps led up to the King’s throne, a great gilded chair. The King of Gondor’s throne, by contrast, was many steps up on a dais and under a marble canopy shaped like a crowned helm. Behind it was the image of the White Tree in flower, formed with gems in the wall. The royal seat here was far more subdued and modest, as she perceived it, though she was surprised to realize she thought it rather fitting to the man who was their king. Eomer was an impressive man, but there was nothing grandiose about him. This throne suited him quite well.

She almost expected Eomer to step up and take a seat on the throne, but instead, he stopped short of the dais and consulted with his steward about where everyone was to be housed. It soon became evident that the steward and Eowyn had matters well in hand, for servants were stepping forward to guide each to the chamber they would be using during their visit. As a lone female in Imrahil’s house, Lothiriel was given a room to herself, albeit a rather small one, though once she had seen the chambers her father and brothers were to be housed in, it did not seem out of the ordinary.

She was left to get settled, after being told a maidservant would attend her as soon as possible. While she waited, she began to unpack her baggage that had been brought in just as she arrived at the room. The clothes could wait; first to be drawn forth were her books and she set them safely on a small table near the window. After doing so, she drew the heavy curtain aside and gazed out the window. It took a moment to figure out the latch on it, and push it open, but she was rewarded with a bit of fresh air rushing in. 

Just then, a knock came at the door and when she called for her visitor to enter, it proved to be the maidservant. The girl had brought some hot water for washing, and set it beside a basin with a washing cloth and towel. Then, while Lothiriel freshened herself, the girl set to getting her clothes put away and the baggage stored under the bed.

Advised that there was nothing planned, though some of the guests were gathering in the main hall for socializing, Lothiriel dismissed the girl and sat down on the bed. It rather surprised her at how comfortable it seemed, and she allowed herself to stretch out for a few moments while she considered what to do. Her stomach rumbled then, and she wondered if dinner would be served soon. Afterwards, perhaps Amrothos could be persuaded to accompany her on a walk about the town. That thought in mind, she rose, brushed out her hair before rebraiding it against the wind, and made her way back to the hall.

The servant had been correct. There was a goodly number of people already there, and few took notice of her arrival. She was not inclined to suffer idle conversation, so she made her way over to the nearest tapestry to study its representation. She had been examining it for some time when a quiet voice behind her said, “It tells of Eorl the Young, mounted on Felarof, riding to the Battle of the Field of Celebrant. Are you familiar with that tale?”

Lothiriel had stiffened as she recognized the voice as belonging to Rohan’s king, but his conversation seemed amiable enough. She turned to eye him cautiously as she answered, “Only a little. It had something to do with Rohan being given to your people, as I recall.”

He nodded. “Gondor’s steward, Cirion, sent for aid from the Eotheod, to stave off a massive invasion of Calenardhon by the Balchoth, Men from Rhun who were under Sauron’s influence. The Eotheod’s presence turned the tide, and the enemy was defeated. In thanks, Cirion gifted Calenardhon to my people. That was some five hundred years ago.” He studied the tapestry, caught up in some thought that he did not share with her.

Hesitantly, she asked, “Faramir said something about the main city originally being Aldburg. When did Edoras take its place?”

He drew his attention back to her, and finally answered, “Not until after Eorl’s death. Meduseld was built by his son Brego, during his reign, and completed in 2569.”

Before she could continue her questions, Eomer’s steward approached and informed him that dinner was ready to be served if the king approved. Nodding, Eomer offered Lothiriel his arm. “My lady?”

Inexplicably, she felt embarrassed and awkward, but she simply ducked her head and laid her hand upon the offered arm. He led her to where several tables had been set with eating utensils, and saw her seated before continuing on to his own place at a separate table. Not long after Erchirion joined her, the servants started bringing in food and the meal began. When she inquired where Amrothos had gotten to, her brother told her with wry amusement, “He has already developed an appreciation for flaxen hair! There were several young ladies that caught his eye, and he thought it incumbent upon him to further relations with Rohan by being their dining companion!” A snicker accompanied this, and Lothiriel chuckled also. Dear Amrothos! He was such a flirt, but she could not blame ladies for finding her handsome brother attractive. In some ways, she thought his being the youngest male freed him from feeling it quite so necessary to act in a proper and formal manner. Indeed, she thought Amrothos was great fun most of the time. Likely the ladies of Rohan would find it more appealing than the stricter behavior of most other nobles.

When the meal ended, Amrothos was not to be found and Erchirion could not be induced to accompany her into town, but he assured her she would be quite safe on her own, and left her with a kiss to her cheek. Before setting out, she returned to her room to again glance over her notes and Faramir’s book for any tidbits about the Rohirrim that she might want to remember while out among them.

Then, at last, she set forth. The stone steps alongside the road made the journey down the hill from Meduseld fairly easy. She had expected to find shops to browse in somewhere in the town, but either she could not discover where they were located, or there were few to be had. And those few contained little more than essentials. Even at that, the stock to be found seemed somewhat meager, and she realized with a jolt that likely they were suffering deprivation even more than Gondor had. When a shopkeeper assured her that her Gondorian coins were acceptable, she bought a few things that she did not truly need, just to offer aid in the only way she could.

After that, she was more aware of the look of the people she encountered. There was yet much sorrow on their faces, and she did not think it entirely due to Theoden’s impending funeral. She very much suspected most of them had suffered more personally and materially than just through the loss of their king. She couldn’t imagine how Eomer could face them each day, knowing their welfare was now his responsibility.

She had been out several hours, but her thoughts weighed heavily upon her and she decided to retreat to Meduseld and read instead. Only then did she realize the steepness of the hill, and how grateful she should have been to have ridden up it in a carriage at their arrival. Not used to such exercise, the exertion left her red-faced and winded when she finally reached the steps to Meduseld. She took a moment to rest before attempting that climb, but at last she was safely in her room.

There was still time before dinner, so she found one of her favorite books and settled in the window seat to while away the time. It did not take long to become lost in the stories she was reading about the Elves, and imagining the Elves she had met on this journey as the characters in the tales.

Footsteps drew her attention, and she looked up, smiling as she spotted her brother coming to join her. She had left the door ajar to pull a breeze in, since the summer day was warm, and he had apparently peered in, deciding it was safe to enter unannounced. Before she realized what he was intending, Amrothos plucked the book from her hand and looked to see the title. 

“Amrothos! Give that back!” Lothiriel exclaimed in annoyance, reaching for the book that her brother was easily keeping away from her grasping hands.

When he spotted the title, he rolled his eyes and snickered. “Thiri! You have read this book at least five times already! How many more readings must you make before it is completely committed to your memory?”

As he spoke, his hand holding the book had dropped lower, and she snatched it back, giving him her best annoyed glare. “I read it again because I still find it enjoyable! There is too much in the story to take it all in with a single reading, and then I like to reread my favorite parts. Just because you avoid books as though they carry some contagion does not mean everyone is so squeamish about them!” She protectively hugged the book to her chest as she plopped back down into the window seat.

Folding his arms over his chest, Amrothos gazed sternly down at her. “When are you going to start seeking your adventures in the world rather than in the pages of some story? None of that is real, dearest! At best it was only real at one time, in our history, to someone else. There is far too much to see and do in this world for you to always be shuttered indoors reading!” As he spoke, his eyes had softened with tenderness for his only sister. Despite her quirks, he loved her dearly, and did not want her thinking otherwise.

Her face was pink, and she would not meet his gaze. At length she replied, “I know all that, but I do so enjoy reading about the adventures of others, and imagining myself a part of them. Most of what is in these stories are things that I would never do, could never do. Do you begrudge me knowing about them secondhand?” She shot him an entreating look, silently willing him to understand.

He sighed heavily. They had been over this ground before; his father and brothers also had reproached her on this subject. They all wanted what was best for her, and were not sure she would ever have that so long as she secluded herself away from the world. “Of course I do not, dearest. But do not forget to live yourself while you are reading about the lives of others,” he cautioned, even though he knew she would not heed him.

“I will not!” she assured him, and he didn’t believe her for a moment, though he was certain she thought it to be the truth. 

“Supper will be served shortly. You should put that aside and freshen yourself, then come to the Hall. Shall I wait for you?” 

She shook her head. “No, you go on. I will be there soon.” At his reproving look, she added, “No, I will not keep reading and forget about the time! I promise!

Grinning skeptically, he gave her a nod and departed, knowing further argument was futile.

_TBC_

Caladael – “pool of light”  
Edre – “stream”  
Durraen – “dark wanderer”  
Theodhild – “people’s battle”  
Tortleoth – "bright song"


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

It was becoming evident that, though they were stately and decorous, meals in Rohan were not so formal as in Gondor. Lothiriel rather liked that, as it made the entire event far more relaxed and pleasant. As it ended, the scheduled entertainment included music and singing by bards, as well as dancing for those inclined. For a while, Lothiriel was attentive, enjoying the tales being told in the various songs that were sung. Someone had been designated to give rough translations into the Common Speech, since most of the songs were in Rohirric, and Lothiriel realized that many of the stories they told were new to her.

All too soon, the music was given over for dancing, and Lothiriel lost interest, going to settle along the wall on one of the benches that was pushed there. She had tucked a book of Sindarin poetry in her pocket before coming to supper, now drawing it forth to set about providing her own preferred entertainment. She was soon largely oblivious to the room and the people gathered nearby.

“See – there. She is doing it now.”

The voice stood out in the hum of the crowd, and caught Lothiriel’s awareness.

“It is the same at nearly every dance. She slinks off to corners to read her books instead of dancing! I do not like to speak ill of anyone, but the girl is truly quite odd with her fascination for reading!”

Lothiriel glanced up through her eyelashes, keeping her head lowered so her look would not be noticed, to identify the speaker. It did not take long to spot Durraen, standing with King Eomer and eyeing her disdainfully. She might have known. What did it matter to her whether or not Lothiriel danced! She should be grateful there was one less competitor for male eyes! And, certainly, Durraen danced enough for the both of them. 

Durraen was not the first to deride her bookishness; she had overheard similar remarks before, made by others. She supposed she should find them insulting and hurtful, but she cared little for their opinion so she found it difficult to take offense, or even bother with what they said of her.

And as for King Eomer, if he chose to spend time in the company of such an empty-headed shrew, he deserved what he got! Eomer’s expression was unreadable, and it was difficult to judge his reaction to Durraen’s words, but Lothiriel felt quite certain he agreed with the assessment of her, and found Lothiriel endlessly amusing. He had already made it plain that he thought as little of her literary pursuits as did Durraen. Well, she did not care for his opinion either! 

With a slight sneer of disbelief toward them, that could not actually be seen, she returned her attention to what she had been reading. Putting her finger in the book to keep her place, she rose, deciding to call it a night, at least as far as this gathering was concerned. In her room she could continue her study, without having to be subjected to catty remarks!

xxxxx

Over the next few days, Lothiriel was very grateful for the books she had brought with her. To her amazement, she had discovered there were few books in Rohan. Most of the ones that did exist had belonged to the King’s grandmother, Morwen of Lossarnach, and were rarely read by anyone. As the librarian in Minas Tirith had indicated, the Rohirrim were more prone to keeping their history in songs, passed along verbally, than writing them down. She had asked Lady Eowyn about a library in the city, thinking surely as the main city of the land there would be one here, and had been met with an uncertain, surprised look. Fortunately, Faramir had been there as well, and had explained Lothiriel’s passion for reading. 

Reluctantly, Eowyn had shown her to the small set of books on some shelves in Eomer’s study. They were dusty and clearly unused for a very long time, but Eowyn told her she could borrow as many as she liked during her visit. Faramir had been induced to gather up an armload and carry them to Lothiriel’s room for her, and she spent considerable time examining them. 

As it turned out, Morwen had brought books from her homeland, and much of her collection consisted of books Lothiriel had at home and had already read. Only one or two was new to her, but even so she was glad for more breadth of reading material, as she had been limited in the number of books her father would allow her to carry with her on the journey to the north.

Lothiriel had also discovered that it was a good idea to enlist Faramir’s aid in getting answers to her questions from Eowyn. That helped Lothiriel avoid further involvement with the king, though Eowyn was often quite busy overseeing the household, a daunting task with so many funeral guests. Eowyn had explained many of the tales found on the tapestries, including one showing when Wulf of the Dunlendings had seized Edoras for a time, and then was finally defeated by Frealaf, who reclaimed the Golden Hall. Lothiriel had looked to see if she could spot any evidence of that dramatic history, but it had been nearly three hundred years past, and there was nothing she could discern.

Although she avoided Eomer, Lothiriel could not help noticing, even from a distance, how he seemed to become more withdrawn the nearer they came to Theoden’s funeral. A summer storm the night before had freshened the air and cooled the weather a little, and the sky was still somewhat overcast. It was somehow quite fitting for the occasion, and the mourners made the long trek down to the Barrowfield at the appointed hour. 

Lothiriel had witnessed few funerals in Gondor, but she very much expected they would be considerably different in Rohan, and she was not disappointed. Theoden was laid in a stone house with arms and other fair things that he had possessed, and then a great mound was raised over him, covered with green turves of grass and the white evermind. That made eight mounds on the east side of the Barrowfield.

At that point, the Riders of the King’s house, mounted on white horses, rode around the barrow and together sang a song of Theoden, that his minstrel, Gleowine, had written. The slow voices of the Riders was quite stirring, even to those who could not understand Rohirric, but it especially brought a light to the eyes of the people of the Mark as Theoden’s heroic deeds were related.

The Hobbit, Merry, stood at the foot of the green mound and wept, and when the song ended, he rose and cried, _‘Théoden King, Théoden King! Farewell! As a father you were to me, for a little while. Farewell!’_

That seemed a fitting conclusion, and as the burial was over and the weeping of the women began to still, the mourners turned slowly away to return to Meduseld for a great feast and to put away their sorrow. Lothiriel heard many of his people murmur that Theoden had lived a full, long life, and it had ended in honor no less than the greatest of his sires.

Apparently it was customary on such occasions to drink to the memory of the kings, and at the appointed time, Lady Eowyn came forth with a filled cup that she bore to her brother. A minstrel and loremaster stood up, and named all the Lords of the Mark in their order down to Theoden. Once Theoden was named, Eomer drained the cup, and then Eowyn directed the servants to fill the cups, and all who were assembled rose and drank to the new king, crying, “Hail, Eomer, King of the Mark!”

Lothiriel found she could barely swallow the wine, she was so choked with emotion. Somehow she almost felt a part of history in the making as she joined in this tribute to the newest king of Rohan. Eomer himself showed no emotion, but his eyes had darkened, and she wondered what he must be feeling at taking his uncle’s place in ruling over their people. She suspected it was difficult for him to do. 

Even so, Eomer apparently was able to set aside any melancholy feelings he might be experiencing, and as the feast drew to an end, he rose to say, _“Now this is the funeral feast of Théoden the King; but I will speak ere we go of tidings of joy, for he would not grudge that I should do so, since he was ever a father of Éowyn my sister. Hear then all my guests, fair folk of many realms, such as have never before been gathered in this hall! Faramir, Steward of Gondor, and Prince of Ithilien, asks that Éowyn Lady of Rohan should be his wife, and she grants it full willing. Therefore they shall be trothplighted before you all.”_

Faramir and Eowyn’s faces were shining with joy, and they stood forth, setting hand in hand as all there drank to them. _“Thus,” said Éomer, “is the friendship of the Mark and of Gondor bound with a new bond, and the more do I rejoice.”_

The crowd pressed in to offer good wishes to the couple and Lothiriel lost sight of them. She had not expected the twinge it gave her at seeing their happiness. It had brought the question to mind of whether she would ever know such a day as this, and look at a man with the same adoration in her eyes as was in Eowyn’s. It seemed impossible to conceive at this particular moment. She could not think of any men of her acquaintance that would incite such feelings within her.

The gathering shifted and parted, giving her a clear view of the dais on which stood the betrothed couple with King Eomer and King Elessar. Inexplicably, Eomer turned and looked directly at her, holding her gaze for a moment. She wasn’t sure why, but when he turned back to the conversation with his companions, she blushed. She shrugged off the odd sensation and moved away from the crush of people, settling on a bench in an out-of-the-way spot. She had not brought a book with her, thinking she would be too much occupied with the funeral, so she merely observed the people around her, and pondered where her own life might be going.

xxxxx

Since there seemed no avoiding all this dancing as the evening’s entertainment for the guests, Lothiriel was at least pleased that she had discovered a volume in Morwen’s collection on the dances of the Riddermark. It was small enough that she had slipped it in her pocket on her way to supper, and once the meal ended, she found a spot with a good view of the room.

“If I may ask, what is it that you are doing?”

She recognized that voice, and she rarely escaped unscathed from encounters with its owner. She was very sure he would make light of her efforts now as in the past.

“I am reading,” she replied laconically, not offering more of an explanation than absolutely necessary. Perhaps he would lose interest and leave her in peace.

“I can see that, but you seem to be watching the dancing a great deal also. If the music distracts you from reading, why do you not seek a quieter spot?” Eomer asked, restraining a grin, but there was a tone to his voice that registered his amusement.

Frostily, she told him, “I am reading about the Rohirric dances. I am comparing what is written to what I am actually seeing.” That seemed a reasonable answer. Surely now he would go away and not trouble her further.

His brow furrowed as he considered this, then at length he raised an eyebrow that somehow seemed teasing, as he asked, “Could you not better learn the dances by _doing_ them than by _reading_ about them?”

It was truly vexing that she could never quite find a firm argument against his remarks. Was there no one else in all this gathering he could annoy? As he seemed to be awaiting her answer, there was little option but to respond in some manner. With a sigh, she told him, “Reading is sufficient to my purpose.”

Grinning, he held out a hand to her. “Perhaps, but would you indulge the king of Rohan, and favor him as his partner for the next dance? The steps are fairly simple, and I will gladly guide you through them.”

This was unexpected! Still, his words reminded her of his position, and her duty to behave appropriately. She did not think her father would be amused if she rudely refused the man. She did not want to do this! She rarely danced, and thus was not confident in doing so, but what could she do?

Grudgingly setting aside her book, she rose and laid her hand in his, allowing him to lead her to the edge of the dance area. They watched the present reel coming to a conclusion, and then as some dancers left the floor, they took a place among those continuing on.

He seemed to sense her nervousness, and quietly began explaining the pattern they would be following. Fortunately, the dance required the partners to hold hands during most of it, so as it progressed, Eomer was able to steer her whenever she was uncertain where to go. There were some stumbling moments, but he just grinned and urged her on. She wondered that he was not embarrassed to be seen with such a poor partner, but it did not appear to matter to him in the slightest. Surprisingly, his carefree attitude began to affect her also, and when the dance finally concluded, she realized that she had actually found it pleasant.

As the king led her from the floor, and obtained mugs of wine for their refreshment, she reluctantly told him, “I enjoyed that, my lord. Thank you.”

He gave her a grin that she found decidedly unnerving. What was it about this man that he could manipulate her so easily? Perhaps it was his being used to commanding people, but somehow in her case he seemed simply to decide what he wanted and before she knew it she was going along with it. He annoyed her and teased her, but in spite of it she rather thought she liked him. Tightening her jaw, she mentally chastized herself. Men such as this should be avoided. They were dangerous, and surely he was looking to take advantage of a girl he considered innocent and unknowing. He would not find her so! Dropping a brief curtsy, she said, “If you will excuse me, I believe I will collect my book and finish what I was doing.”

Why did she sense disappointment from him, and why did it bother her? Before she could turn away, he told her, “As you wish, my lady, but if I may be so bold, I hope you will grant me other dances while you are visiting us. I quite enjoyed that also.”

At a loss as to how she could respond, she merely nodded and moved hurriedly away before he could pursue any further unsettling conversation. She had thought to return to reading and watching the dancers, but now decided it might be best to end her evening. If she remained here, he was apt to approach her again, and she wasn’t at all sure she could cope with that twice in one night!

xxxxx

On the fourth day after the funeral, the guests were taking their leave of Edoras, though Lothiriel discovered that her father had decided to tarry longer. Eomer was grateful to have Imrahil’s counsel on various matters his kingdom was facing, and Imrahil was happy to offer whatever guidance might prove useful to his friend.

Lothiriel had mixed emotions about it. She had been looking forward to riding with King Elessar’s group on their meandering return to Gondor. The party was to travel first to Helm’s Deep and then on to Isengard, before the Fellowship parted ways. The Hobbits, Gandalf and the Elves would continue on to Rivendell while Elessar led his group home. It did not surprise her that Faramir tarried at Edoras also, to return with his Dol Amroth kin, but she was not expecting Queen Arwen to remain. The Elf had gone up into the hills with her father, and it was said they had a bitter parting as Arwen was to stay and give up her immortality to be Elessar’s wife, while Elrond would sail to Valinor.

Helm’s Deep and the Glittering Caves. Isengard. How much she would miss seeing by staying here instead of going with the King’s party! But her father was insistent that they remain, and she resigned herself to it. Not only that, but now the Elves, Hobbits and wizard were gone, leaving her with just the Rohirrim. Well, there was still Queen Arwen, of course, but Lothiriel was not comfortable spending much time with her.

Lothiriel couldn’t quite decide how she felt about the Rohirrim. She rather thought that were it not for her run-ins with the king, she might like this land far more. And she had not been able to warm up to Eowyn overly much either. She wasn’t sure if it was due to the woman being the king’s sister, or that they were so different in their views of things, but Eowyn always seemed mildly disapproving of her.

Still, there was nothing to be done for it. She would have to make the best that she could of the circumstances. At least Durraen had departed, and she would not have to endure overhearing any more of her censure. In fact, with so many of the ladies gone, possibly there would be fewer, if any dances, and she could avoid that nuisance altogether. She had been forced to suffer a few more dances with the king, as he had proven annoyingly persistent in that regard, but now she would be free of the burden, though she wasn’t quite sure why a part of her was sorry about it.

She supposed she had enough reading material to keep herself reasonably occupied for the duration. Earlier, she had discovered a rather overgrown garden behind Meduseld. While unkempt, there was a bench that allowed her to sit and read out in the sun and fresh air, rather than sequestered in her room. The day after the other guests departed, she determined to make a habit of spending a few hours there each day, at the very least, and now collected a book and made her way to the spot.

She had been reading for some time, when that familiar low voice remarked, “Reading again, I see. Do you never do anything else?”

Standing up to face him, as it made her feel less intimidated to reduce the height from which he towered over her, she snapped indignantly, “Those who do not read would do well not to mock those who do!”

Only barely did she avoid outright labeling the king as illiterate, but it was evident that he recognized her implied meaning all the same.

“I am able to read!” Eomer said curtly. Then his eyes narrowed and he added, “There is much of value to be found in books, I grant you, but they are not the substance of life. They should not be a substitute for actually living.”

“I do not substitute them for living!” Lothiriel protested, raising her chin defiantly. “I…I am able to learn of things I might never have the opportunity to experience for myself. I will never ride into battle, but I may read what is written about it, and come to better understand it for myself.” She gave him a triumphant look at the example she had been able to produce.

For several long moments, Eomer just gazed at her steadily, and then something shifted in his eyes. “Do you read romances?” he inquired, unexpectedly.

She blinked at the question, but nodded. “Yes, I do. What of it?” Still there was the resolute tilt to her chin, defying him to ridicule her.

“And I suppose there is kissing in these romances,” Eomer observed benignly. She nodded again, a little hesitantly, not sure what his point might be. “Have you ever been kissed?” he pressed.

Her face flushed and she could not hold his gaze. “No, I have not, but that does not mean there is nothing to be gained by reading about it…for when I am.”

He suddenly stepped in close, slipping an arm around her waist and catching her up against him. The action caused her eyes to go wide and she took a sharp gasp of breath. “There are some things words cannot adequately describe so you will truly understand them,” he murmured huskily, and then his lips were against hers, warm and urgent.

For an instant, Lothiriel thought that she should object, and pull away from him, but the sensations that were shooting through her were…wondrous! Without conscious effort, her arms slid up around his neck, and she eagerly leaned into the kiss. Her actions caused him to embrace her even more, but then abruptly he stopped and drew back, causing her to stagger somewhat as her eyes blinked open. Both were slightly out of breath but, after a moment, Eomer released her completely and stepped away. “Is that what you _imagined_ from reading your books?” he asked quietly. With a slow, knowing grin, he turned and left, and all she could do was watch him go, overwhelmed, astonished and thoroughly confused.

She had paced the garden for some time, both fuming over his audacity, and remembering all too vividly how it had felt to be held in his arms, his warm mouth caressing hers. More than once, her hand moved to her lips, as if seeking evidence that it had truly happened rather than merely been a dream. She should be angry with him – very angry! And, yet, some part of her actually seemed…thrilled! What was he doing to her? Whatever it was, she was not at all sure she liked it, and all things considered, she decided she very much needed to avoid this man at all costs!

She managed to stick to her determination in the matter rather well. The servants were quite willing to bring her dinner to her room, and she was only forced to face Eomer at supper. That, however, was usually such that she could seat herself well away from him, and avoid conversation for the most part.

But after a couple of days, her father had noticed her absence and had come to draw her personally to the noon-day meal. It had taken every bit of her resolve to go in and face Eomer over the dinner table. For his part, he barely looked at her, though once or twice she caught a glance, and a grin tweaking his mouth. That only added fuel to her irritation, and she devoured her meal as quickly as possible before excusing herself to hurry away.

“Is it my imagination or is my sister rather upset with you, Eomer?” Erchirion inquired with lifted eyebrow, watching Lothiriel charge from the room. He had not missed her frosty behavior toward the king, though he had refrained from commenting on it until all but his brother and Eomer had also departed.

Eomer shifted uncomfortably a moment, then acknowledged, “She is. I did something to prove a point, and I am not sure she appreciated it.”

“What did you do?” Erchirion asked curiously, certain his friend would not dishonor his sister in any way. Amrothos, too, leaned in to hear the answer.

“I…I kissed her,” Eomer reluctantly told them, not meeting their eyes. Such a thing was not something brothers tended to view lightly when it came to their sisters, as he well knew, but he was too honest to disguise the truth.

“ _Kissed_ her?” Amrothos repeated, as though the notion was too bizarre to conceive. “And she let you do it?”

Eomer shrugged apologetically. “It was not so much a case of allowing it as being unprepared for it, and thus not rebuffing me as she otherwise might have.”

Erchirion and Amrothos shared a confused look, and then Erchirion blurted out, “But why? Why would you kiss her?”

With a sigh, Eomer explained, “I wanted to prove to her that books do not contain the sum of life. That there are experiences which can only be fully appreciated firsthand, rather than merely having them described to you by someone else.” He paused, then added, “I am sorry if I overstepped the bounds of propriety. I meant no disrespect.”

The brothers were staring at one another, pondering this information, and at length they broke into simultaneous grins. “Well, then, that explains it! I have not caught her reading for nearly two days – and that is unheard of!” Amrothos exclaimed. “This is excellent news, Eomer!”

Eomer blinked in surprise at the response. “You…you are saying you do not mind that I kissed her?”

“Mind! Kiss her again, by all means – within proper bounds, of course! We have been trying to get her nose out of books since she learned to read! Only you have succeeded in accomplishing it, and all with a mere kiss. Had we known it was that simple, we would have hired someone to do it years ago!” Erchirion snickered.

Eomer suspected the last was an exaggeration, but he could understand their view on the situation. Lothiriel would never fully have a life until she stopped trying to live it through the pages of a story. Those were someone else’s lives, and while they might entertain, life should be so much more than that.

He gave a hesitant grin, and told them, “I am not so sure that your sister agrees that it was a beneficial development.” He left unsaid how much he had enjoyed the kiss, more than he had expected, and that ever since he had been contemplating how very much he would like to do it again. But catching her off her guard a second time was unlikely, and judging from her reaction, she was not apt to allow him near enough to attempt it. Besides which, he would not force his attentions upon her. He truly had meant it only to prove a point. That it had become something more had surprised him as much as Lothiriel had been surprised by his behavior. No, he could not approach her in such a way again unless she was willing for him to do so. Therefore, he would need to persuade her to think better of him, and convince her to be inclined.

_TBC_

Caladael – “pool of light”  
Edre – “stream”  
Durraen – “dark wanderer”  
Theodhild – “people’s battle”  
Tortleoth – "bright song"


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

“This will be such an adventure!” Lothiriel gushed to Amrothos, who was sprawled in a chair, watching as she flit about the room.

Their father was to accompany Eomer King to visit some of the outlying villages, and Lothiriel had begged permission to go with them. Imrahil had warned his daughter that it would not be a particularly agreeable outing, necessitating sleeping in tents and riding for long hours, which she was apt to find painful, but she had insisted. Not that she especially wished to spend time in Eomer’s company, but she did want to see more of this land and its people. This might be her only opportunity to visit here, and she wanted to make the most of it.

Amrothos had tried making broad hints to dissuade her going, but she was adamant. Still, he felt it incumbent upon him to make another attempt. “Thiri, are you certain about this? I do not believe it will prove the adventure you deem it. Accommodations will be rough at best, much more so than on the journey from Minas Tirith, and Rohan has not had time to recover appreciably from all that it suffered. It will be…discouraging to witness, dearest.”

“No! No, you are mistaken!” she blithely assured him. “I will find it fascinating, even the accommodations! I have so little experience with such things that they will prove vastly interesting!” She began to braid her hair to pull it back out of her way, and added, “As to the people of Rohan, how could I help but be intrigued! I know they have suffered, but I wish to understand what it truly is like for them. You are always saying I should see things firsthand instead of merely reading about them. Now is my opportunity, is it not?” 

She eyed him triumphantly in the mirror, and he did not meet her gaze. Yes, they had encouraged that, as she said, but he did not think she was truly prepared for what she would encounter. Still, perhaps she _needed_ to see it for herself. Perhaps that would have more of an impact than their words ever could. Rising from his chair, he asked, “Are you about ready? They will be waiting for us.”

Tying off her hair, she nodded as he scooped up her bag and led the way to the door. The girl was still beaming from ear to ear, but there was nothing to be done for it. Only experience would sober her view of life. Hopefully it would not be too painful for her. He did not wish that, but life was not the fairy story she deemed it. Sometimes there were harsh realities that must be faced, and he suspected Lothiriel was about to learn that the hard way.

No sidesaddle had been brought with them on the trek to Rohan, so Lothiriel would need to ride astride, but that had been how she first learned to ride, so she did not anticipate difficulty. Even so, Imrahil had taken care to find the gentlest horse possible for her, believing it might take more adjustment than she expected.

A small group was gathered at the foot of the stairs up to Meduseld, horses and riders milling about as final preparations were made. Amrothos handed off Lothiriel’s bag for securing to a pack animal, as Erchirion led forth the horse she would ride, a small dappled grey mare. His sister beamed with pleasure at the sight of her. “Oh, she is beautiful!” Lothiriel exclaimed. “What is her name?”

Tolerantly, her brother replied, “Fagbridd. I think it means something like ‘spotted bird’.” 

Lothiriel wrinkled her nose with displeasure. “That sounds dreadful! But the meaning is appropriate, I suppose. Does ‘bridd’ mean ‘bird’ then?” At Erchirion’s nod, she announced, “Then I shall merely call her ‘Bridd’. That sounds much more appealing!”

Suppressing a chuckle, he handed her the reins, and moved to help her into the saddle. Once she was seated, he began to adjust the stirrups for her. The party had been ready and merely waiting for the arrival of Lothiriel and Amrothos, so now others began to mount their horses as well. A moment later, Imrahil and Eomer came striding down the steps to join them. Eomer gazed pensively at Lothiriel briefly, without her noticing, then abruptly turned and took his horse, stepping easily up into the saddle.

When Eothain indicated they were ready, Eomer raised his hand to signal them forward, and the journey began. They wound their way slowly down the hill, meeting a larger party of soldiers once they exited the gates. Anticipating the villagers being in need of supplies, there were quite a number of packhorses in their group. A wagon might have held more with fewer animals, but this would allow them to travel more quickly than with carts. As they moved past the barrowfields, all the Rohirrim maintaining a respectful silence, they picked up their pace. Firefoot was nudged to a canter, with the remainder following suit, and they struck off across the plain.

It took the better part of the morning to reach the first village. Lothiriel’s enthusiasm faltered slightly at the sight before her. She _knew_ there had been devastation, but this was far beyond her expectation of it. The buildings seemed little more than rough shelters, and she wondered if they would truly keep out rain and wind. She knew winter came much earlier and harder here than in the south, so likely colder weather would soon be a problem also. Surely these structures could not keep out wintry elements at their best, let alone at their worst.

Involuntarily, her eyes flitted to Eomer, to judge his reaction, but his countenance was unreadable to her. He rode slowly into the town as people began to appear in doorways to watch. When Eomer was recognized, a cheer rose up, and echoed through the small village as they began to realize who their visitor was.

The King gave no sign of acknowledgement to the accolade as he rode by, finally coming to a stop in the middle of town. Lothiriel had expected some sort of inn or such to freshen herself, but clearly she was mistaken in that anticipation. As everyone else seemed to be dismounting, she followed suit. For a moment, she was hesitant about what to do with her horse, since there were no hitching posts, but most of the Rohirrim seemed to merely drop their reins and their horses stood impassively where they were left as the riders moved away. As hers was a Rohirric horse, she decided to follow their example, and went to join her father and brothers.

Eomer was conversing with a few men of the village in rapid Rohirric that she could not understand. Turning her attention to her surroundings, she looked around. As she did, she noticed that there were far more women and children than men to be seen. Perhaps the men were off working the fields or such, she mused. Offering a smile to the woman and children nearest her, the three responded with a blank look and dead eyes. Her smile slowly faded at the lack of response, and she quickly turned back to watch the proceedings, unnerved by the situation.

After several moments of discussion, quite a few supplies were unloaded from one of the packhorses, and the party began to remount. This time Amrothos accompanied her, and helped her back into the saddle. Gazing up at her, his hand resting on her knee, he murmured quietly, “I did warn you, Thiri. They have suffered dreadfully. Recovery will not be easy.”

She swallowed hard but gave no reply, and he went off to collect his own horse. Moments later, they were again underway. The entire group seemed sobered by the visit just made, and they largely moved in unspeaking silence. An hour later, they stopped again, this time at a small waterhole in a copse of trees. Food was distributed for their noonday meal, though they did not attempt building a fire. The animals were tended and allowed to rest, and Lothiriel almost got the impression that the break from travel was for the benefit of the horses rather than for the people involved.

Less than an hour later, they were back in the saddle and cantering on. The next village appeared ahead, and as they approached, Lothiriel saw that this one was less devastated. The buildings looked more secure and snug, and it was a far larger group. Even so, women and children again seemed to dominate the population, and there was no greater cheeriness than there had been at the previous settlement. Their visit followed a similar pattern, and they rode to the center of the village before alighting.

Though Eomer again spoke with the men in Rohirric, this time his attention seemed caught by a woman, holding a toddler in her arms, who was standing nearby. Imrahil had been standing next to Eothain when Lothiriel joined them, and now the Captain explained that Eomer was assessing the circumstances of the village by talking to the men, so that supplies could be apportioned, or further help could be sent later.

When that discussion seemed to have ended, Eomer turned slowly to the woman and child, and moved silently to stand before them. Reaching out a hand, he gripped her shoulder, and the gesture broke through her reserve. Tears began to stream down her face, and a look of abject grief came upon her. Without hesitation, Eomer drew her into his embrace and held her while she wept. Only then did Lothiriel glimpse a small girl who had been standing hidden behind the woman, holding tightly to a handful of her mother’s dress. Two large, grey eyes came up to stare blankly at Lothiriel and her throat tightened at what she saw. There was a haunted look in them that was inexcusable for one so young. _How could this happen? What had these people suffered?_

Her thoughts were distracted as Eothain explained quietly, “Edre was the wife of one of Eomer King’s closest friends. He…did not come back from Gondor with us.”

It did not take much effort to discern his meaning, that this woman was now a widow and raising her two children alone. Unconsciously, Lothiriel glanced at her father and brothers, appreciating anew their safe return to her.

Again supplies were distributed, though while they were being unloaded, Eomer walked off with Edre and the children, talking softly to them. He had scooped the little girl up into his arms, and she clung to his neck but did not speak. When it came time for them to depart, she was reluctant to let go of him, but he gave her a reassuring smile and pressed a kiss to her forehead, murmuring gentle words until a slight smile tweaked her mouth.

As they continued on, Lothiriel found her thoughts in disarray. Whatever she had expected from this excursion, this was not it. This was far different than reading of such things. To witness the devastation for herself was…unsettling. And she did not think she would easily forget the shadow in that little girl’s eyes, in many Rohirric eyes. What horrors had they faced, of which she could not even conceive the magnitude? For the most part, she had sat safely in the castle at Dol Amroth, worried about her family’s well-being, and peace being restored to her land, but she had not suffered a great deal personally. She had lost herself in books and reading when the unpleasantness of life weighed upon her. Though she did not necessarily agree with all Rohan’s king had said to her, and she still was not sure what to make of that kiss he had given, she began to think his point was well made. Some things were far different when lived than merely read about.

Moreover, she saw this enigmatic man with new eyes. He was large and intimidating, yes, but his concern for his people was moving, and the tenderness he had shown to his friends had been unexpected. Perhaps she had given him too little credit in the past, judging too much on appearance without learning what substance was within. How many times had a book’s cover discouraged her opening it, but when she finally did it turned out to be one of her favorites? Perhaps the same would be true of Eomer.

Caught off-guard by such a thought, she blushed slightly, quickly glancing about to see if anyone had noticed. All seemed wrapped up in their own thoughts and were paying her no mind, to her relief. Ahead, Eomer rode straight and tall, sitting easily in the saddle. Whatever his feelings about the things they had witnessed thus far, he kept them concealed. Likely such an impassive-appearing countenance had served him well in war situations; she thought it likely to serve him equally well in politics. Still, if none could read his thoughts, were there any who could read his heart? Possibly Eowyn could, but was there anyone else? Were his friends privileged to see more into his private places? She could almost believe it was so, for those who counted him a friend seemed most warm and cordial toward him. She could not think it would be so if he concealed himself even from them.

She shook herself mentally, wondering at the direction her musings had taken. What did it matter to her? It was unlikely she would ever be the sort of friend Eomer would include in his inner circle. He deemed her silly and useless, she was certain. That thought had not bothered her before this, but suddenly she rather wished to have his approbation. Swallowing hard, she forced her thoughts elsewhere, despite their persistent efforts at returning to the King of Rohan riding a short distance from her.

When camp was made for the night, on the outskirts of a very small settlement, Lothiriel discovered just what Amrothos had meant when he kept saying the accommodations would be rough. There had been large tents during the funeral exodus, but the ones they were using now were only just big enough for one or two people. A bucket of water, cold, was all she had for washing, and changing clothes had to be done sitting down. As most of the camp seemed to continue wearing the same clothes for extended periods, she did the same, though she could not help a look of chagrin as she glanced down at the wrinkled and slightly soiled dress. Were she at home, such a thing would never be tolerated. Here, however, no one paid it much mind. Even so, she kept a light shawl pulled around her as she moved about camp, to somewhat hide her dishevelled appearance. 

As the only woman in the party, she was sure conversation was being restricted to polite subjects, and she regretted that her presence was putting even more of a damper on their mood than the day’s events had. Once the evening meal was concluded, she decided to retire for the evening. Amrothos had also been correct about his assessment of the toll riding would take upon her. She was already stiff, and sitting on the log for the evening meal had been…uncomfortable. She wasn’t entirely sure how she was going to manage climbing back into a saddle the next day, but having insisted upon coming on this venture, she had no choice but to grit her teeth and bear it.

Her weariness quickly brought slumber, but it was not to be a restful night. She didn’t think she had slept more than a few hours when she heard someone at her tent flap, softly calling her name. For a moment, it frightened her, but then she forced herself to be calm – the camp was too well guarded by the king’s men for her to be in any danger, and no enemy would know her name. She was sleeping in the dress she had worn all day, figuring to change to a fresh one the next day. Reaching for her shawl, she pulled it around her before crawling to the tent opening.

To her surprise, it was the king kneeling outside. He looked uncomfortable approaching her, but there was also worry on his countenance. “I am sorry to bother you, my lady, but I wonder if you might be able to assist with a birthing. There are few women in this settlement, and things are not going smoothly.”

She was flabbergasted by the request. “Me? I know nothing about such things, my lord!” she protested.

“Even so,” he reluctantly told her, “you would be an extra pair of hands. There is another woman who has some experience, but it is not appropriate for men to assist her.”

Swallowing hard, Lothiriel nodded with resolve and moved farther out of the tent. The king rose easily, and gave her a hand in getting to her feet. It was all she could do not to let out a groan! Oh, she had stiffened in just the past few hours, and was truly feeling her day’s exertion. Something in the king’s eyes suggested he suspected her discomfort, but he did not remark on it, for which she was grateful.

Silently, he guided her through the darkness to the small hut where the woman was birthing. A guard accompanied them, but waited outside as Eomer took her in to introduce her. The woman attending the delivery of the child was heating water over the fire, but looked up as they entered, eyeing Lothiriel curiously.

Eomer spoke to her briefly in Rohirric, and then switched to the Common Speech to say, “This is Lothiriel. She has no experience, but she is willing to help you how ever she is able. Lothiriel, this is Tortleoth.”

The woman nodded to her and stood, wiping her hands on an apron she wore over her dress. Without regard for his status, Tortleoth dismissed the king, “Thank you, my lord. You may go. We will manage.”

Lothiriel bit back a grin at the abrupt tone in her voice, but clearly the woman had more important matters on her mind than fawning over a king. Eomer took no offense, merely giving Lothiriel’s arm a slight squeeze before he sketched a bow to the two of them and left.

Pointing to some water in a bowl on the table, Tortleoth instructed, “Wash your hands well there. Theodhild still has a way to go before the baby will arrive.”

xx

Come the morning, Lothiriel was exhausted, but the new mother lay smiling with her infant daughter held lovingly in her arms. Lothiriel had never had the opportunity to witness a birthing before this, and she had vastly mixed emotions about it. It was clearly a very painful experience, and all that blood had been disconcerting, but Tortleoth was most efficient. She had barked instructions that cut through any hesitation on Lothiriel’s part, and though she felt out of her depth at this, at the end Lothiriel knew she had contributed to the delightful outcome. It had amazed her how quickly Theodhild seemed to forget about the great pain she had been suffering when at last the child came forth. A glimpse of her babe had even further distracted her from the trauma she had just endured. Lothiriel was not sure she understood how such a thing could be, but neither of the other women appeared to find it unusual, so perhaps it was the way of life.

When Tortleoth finally released her, it was already well into the morning. Lothiriel stepped from the hut to find the guard still waiting there, and he rose from a seat on the ground at the sight of her. Giving her a nod, he asked, “Are you ready to return to camp, my lady?”

She had not expected this, assuming the man had gone with Eomer last night, but indicated she was and he gestured in the direction for her to go. As she walked, mulling over the events of the night, she ruefully realized that now she would have to get on a horse and ride all day, despite a lack of sleep. Well, hopefully there would at least be a hearty breakfast to bolster her strength for the undertaking.

To her surprise, most of the camp was gone, save for just a few tents, and she involuntarily skidded to a stop at the sight of it. What was going on? 

Noticing her astonishment, the guard offered, “The king decided to leave you and your brothers here with a couple of guards, so that you might have time to rest from your labors. The others have gone on to more villages, and then will come back this way on their return to Edoras to collect us.”

At her look of dismay, he added kindly, “The king was most grateful for your willingness to assist with the birthing, my lady. He felt he had imposed on you enough, and this was the least he could do to show his appreciation.”

That knowledge made her feel better, and truth was, she was not eager to climb back into a saddle any too soon. One of the guards began preparing a breakfast for Lothiriel and the man attending her, as soon as they came into view, and once she had eaten, Lothiriel crawled into her tent to get some much-needed sleep.

_TBC_

Caladael – “pool of light”  
Edre – “stream”  
Durraen – “dark wanderer”  
Theodhild – “people’s battle”  
Tortleoth – "bright song"


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

_Home._ She had thought she would be eager to return home once more, but she found herself reluctant to leave Rohan. Somehow it had…grown on her. Though strange to her eyes and ears, she had developed an appreciation for the land and its people. Even Eomer had garnered her respect as she had observed him during her time here.

In particular, the time spent visiting outlying villages had given her an opportunity to see him in a new way. Not only had he been considerate of her, after soliciting her help with the child being born, but when he returned, he had made it a point to go and congratulate the new parents.

The morning of their departure for Gondor, Lothiriel stood quite a while at her bedchamber window, gazing out over the Riddermark below. This visit had certainly not been much like she had envisioned it, but she could not think it was not worthwhile. Indeed, she felt changed by the experience, though she could not manage to put into words just how that was so.

A knock at her door, that stood ajar, alerted her to Amrothos’ presence as he entered to collect her. “Are you ready, Lothiriel? Everyone is gathered in the Hall.”

She nodded, stifling a sigh. “Yes. Let us go.” 

Her brother quirked an eyebrow at her subdued demeanor, but made no comment as he offered his arm to her.

Meanwhile, Erchirion had tracked down Eomer in the stable, where he was saddling his own horse in preparation of riding as far as Aldburg with the Gondorian party. He watched silently for a moment as the king brushed the stallion, and then asked, “Eomer, I cannot help wondering – what are your intentions toward my sister? I am under the impression that you took more than a passing interest in her while we were visiting.”

Eomer paused ever so slightly in his work, then pressed on with vigor. “I hope I have been a good host. That is all. I have no intentions beyond that, my friend.”

Erchirion studied the king’s back, then finally ventured, “Why? Several times I have thought that you were attracted to her. Was I mistaken? And if you are not interested, then why would you kiss her? I know you said it was to make a point, but still–”

“Stop,” Eomer quietly commanded, not turning to look at Erchirion. “Do not make more of this than there is. She is amiable, and I do not deny enjoying the kiss, but…that is all there is.”

Erchirion wasn’t ready to yield just yet, however, and pressed, “I do not believe that. I think you have feelings for her, and if you do, why would you not–” He stopped abruptly, a new thought coming to him, then asked perceptively, “You do not believe your feelings are reciprocated?”

Still Eomer did not look at him, but he let out a sigh, his hands ceasing their activity. “Your sister has made it plain that she does not enjoy my company, and clearly she has no romantic inclinations toward me. If she did, perhaps I would pursue her, but that is not the case. Just let it be, Erchirion.”

“Eomer, she is young, and I know her obsession with reading is not all that appealing to a man, but in time she might–”

“Enough!” Now the king did turn to face him, setting aside the brush and reaching for his saddle. “I know she is young. I do not object to her reading, although I do believe she misses the pleasure of personal experience with her vicarious enjoyment of events. She is _not_ inclined toward me. Perhaps, as you say, in time that would change, but I am not one who believes in sitting idly by, and _hoping_ the future will take the turn I wish it to. When next we meet, if I am yet unattached and she demonstrates an interest, then I will reconsider. Until that time, say no more!” 

There was a finality to his tone that Erchirion could not mistake, and at length he nodded in capitulation. “As you wish. I am sorry it did not turn out as you would have liked.” Turning, he left the stable, and Eomer was not far behind, leading Firefoot.

When they reached the stairs up to Meduseld, everyone was assembled, and all began to mount. It was a difficult leave-taking for Faramir and Eowyn, and none commented on it. Eomer had suggested that his sister ride with them to Aldburg, but she declined, unwilling to prolong the parting.

The group was surprisingly quiet as they traveled, and too soon for all concerned Aldburg came into sight. Farewells were expressed before the Gondorians continued along the Great West Road, and Eomer’s party turned off for a stop in Aldburg to visit with Elfhelm. Eomer sat for several moments, watching as they rode away. Just as he raised his arm to signal his men onward, he glimpsed Lothiriel leaning slightly out the carriage window and looking back.

xxxxx

It was a long winter, and Eowyn had been grateful for all that needed doing in Rohan, as it kept her mind and hands occupied so she had little time to dwell on missing Faramir. Even so, as spring arrived and the time for their departure to Minas Tirith drew near, she was more on edge. Through the winter months, Eomer’s gentle teasing had helped her out of a disagreeable mood when her loneliness preyed upon her, but now she was more likely to snap at him in annoyance, and he had taken to giving her a wider berth.

He couldn’t blame her, really. He was lonely also, moreso for realizing that soon Eowyn would be gone and he would be doing this completely on his own. More than once he had thought of Lothiriel, and of Erchirion’s encouragement to give her time, but that seemed false hope. There had been enough disappointment in his life; he did not wish to set himself up for more.

Even so, he could not resist wondering if anything would have changed when they saw one another again at Mundburg. He knew the entire family was to be there to celebrate Faramir’s wedding. All he could do was wait and see, and _not_ allow himself to hope.

Originally, Eomer had thought to have a single party traveling south, both the wedding guests and Eowyn’s belongings. However, it was clear to him that the slower pace and delay caused by traveling with wagons would drive his sister mad, so instead he arranged for the wagons to start out three days ahead of them. That way, even though they would pass them on the road, the wagons would not be far behind in reaching the White City. Eowyn could carry sufficient on a pack animal to tide her over until the arrival of the remainder of her belongings. And, in all honesty, he preferred moving more freely also. Keeping pace with wagons was a tedious way to travel.

They came in sight of the Rammas Echor mid-morning of the twentieth of March, and had reached the defense by noon-day. The wall was substantially rebuilt, and the gate guards welcomed them warmly. They stopped off on the side of the road to eat a quick meal, and then continued the remaining distance, only about three-and-a-half leagues. When they were just a league out, a horn sounded from the City in greeting, and a mounted party exited to ride out to meet them.

It did not surprise Eomer much to see Faramir leading the party, though it did amuse him at how distracted the normally unflappable man was. He could barely keep his eyes off Eowyn long enough to go through the formalities, but Eomer found he could readily forgive such a lapse, given the reason for it. He would have been disappointed had the man behaved otherwise.

The bulk of the host from Rohan fell out, and set to making camp on the Pelennor, with only a handful riding on with Eomer and Eowyn into the city. Citizens had collected along the roadway, and noisily cheered their arrival. It pleased Eomer to see their approbation for the wife their beloved Steward had chosen. Living here would not be easy for Eowyn, but it would be less difficult if she was not made to feel as an outsider. This welcome suggested that would not be the case.

When they reached the seventh level, Elessar and Arwen were awaiting them, along with Faramir’s kin from Dol Amroth. Eomer’s eyes naturally went to the lone female in the family, but he forced himself not to let his gaze linger there. After a fairly cursory welcome, the guests were shown to their chambers, assured there would be plenty of time to get reacquainted at supper that evening.

As the Rohirrim made their way into the King’s house to get settled, Lothiriel watched with a reticent expression. All through the winter she was unable to get Rohan out of her mind. Unintentionally, she had found herself constantly recalling all that had happened while she was there. She had continued to prowl the libraries and booksellers in hopes of finding more written of that fascinating land to the north, but had largely come up dry. She had learned more of them in her time visiting than she was able to find in her books.

She almost had a sense that she had expected something to… _happen_ , when the Rohirrim arrived at Minas Tirith, though she had no notion what precisely she thought it might be. Her family had talked a great deal of Eomer and Eowyn, over meals or sitting around in the evening. Particularly Erchirion seemed eager to share with her what he knew of them, and she had been pleased to hear anything he could tell her. On occasion, her brother had asked strange questions, pressing to know her opinion of the Rohirric siblings. She wasn’t clear why he was so determined to have her find them agreeable, but she assured him she had no complaint about them. Even so, she never quite got the impression that she had given him the answer that he sought.

The truth was, she had not told him the entirety of her thoughts regarding the pair, or at least the male half of it. It seemed she rarely fell to sleep at night without having first thought of Eomer, and recalled that kiss he had given her. Images of him tended to flash into her mind unbidden at the oddest times, and often distracted her from whatever she happened to be doing at the moment. She had tried persuading herself that this was just some silly infatuation, and that in time it would fade, but that had not proven to be true. 

Every tale of valor or romance that she read now brought to mind a hero that was always tall, broad-shouldered and flaxen-haired. But coupled with this fascination that did not seem to be waning, was the very great worry that he certainly did not think so well of her. He had teased and mocked her almost from the start, and surely must believe she was the silliest, most useless creature he had ever met. A young girl who had never before been kissed might have been swept up in the romance of that kiss, but the older, worldly man who had given it held no such starry-eyed notions. He was cordial, as befitted a man greeting the daughter of a friend, but nothing more. And there wasn’t anything in any of her books that told her what to do about the pain that realization engendered.

Supper that evening was a relaxed affair, but the group was sizable enough and consisted of friends who had not seen one another in many months, so that Lothiriel had little occasion to be in Eomer’s company. A time or two she had allowed herself a glimpse of him from across the room, and at least once she had almost gotten the impression he was watching her also, but the next moment, when she looked in his direction, there was no evidence of it. Either way, the evening ended on an unsatisfactory note as she returned to her chambers on Amrothos’ arm.

As if her own personal agitation wasn’t enough, she was awakened by a loud crash from the room next door. More than once she had heard her father or brothers in the night, clearly in the throes of a nightmare. She had never quite known what to do for them, and usually, if they did not awaken on their own, she had settled for going and knocking at their door until they were roused from the fitful slumber. Gradually, through the winter, the episodes had seemed to be easing and becoming less frequent, but perhaps it was this location that caused Amrothos to be afflicted now. 

When she reached the hall, after throwing on a robe, her father and Erchirion were already there and moving into Amrothos’ room to check on him. Erchirion reassured her that they would attend to it, and sent her back to bed with a kiss to the forehead, but sleep had not again come readily. By morning, she had slept only lightly and did not feel rested. At breakfast, Amrothos looked pale, and wore a bandage on his forehead. She was only given a cursory explanation that he had fallen and struck his head on the nightstand, though she was certain there was more to it than that, and they were merely sheltering her from the unpleasantness of it.

Her father had business with Elessar that morning, so she walked with him to the seventh level and then went to gaze over the Pelennor, from along the wall, as he continued on to the Citadel. She was not sure how long she had been standing there, thinking of the battle that had raged below, but at the sound of footfall behind her, she turned, and stiffened when she saw who it was.

Eomer came to an abrupt halt, and the two merely stood eyeing one another. At length, he said, “Lady Lothiriel, good day.” He sketched a bow at her, and without thinking she responded with a curtsy, though she would not meet his eyes.

There was silence again, and then he took another step toward her, glancing beyond her and over the wall. “May I inquire what you were observing out there?” he asked politely.

Her jaw tightened, but she lifted her chin and told him, “I am sure you will think me a silly, foolish girl, my lord, but I was thinking about the battle, and trying to imagine what it must have been like for those who fought.”

To her surprise, the king’s eyes darkened, and he swallowed hard. “With all due respect, my lady, I very much hope you are _never_ able to imagine that. It is not the sort of thing you would want to imagine, if you had any idea what it was like.” He turned away from her and moved to the wall, placing his hands upon it to lean and gaze at the landscape below.

She was caught off her guard by this unexpected conversation, but her curiosity burned. “What do you mean?” she asked softly.

For a time he did not answer, and she began to think he did not intend to do so. Just as she was considering slipping away, he rumbled, “There are… _horrors_ in war. It is something men cannot escape. We are the defenders of home and hearth, and we do our best to keep our women and children far from such evil. But even for a man, the sights…well, he is never entirely free of them, not even long after the fact. It is one thing to see a friend die, it is quite another to watch them die screaming with pain and terror as they are rent apart.” For a moment he seemed lost in a vision of something else, somewhere else, and then he murmured, “Sometimes you even feel guilty that you survived and they did not.”

Lothiriel was astonished to find that her cheeks were damp with the tears streaming down her face, and she hastily swiped at them. The motion drew his attention, and he quickly pulled out the handkerchief which Eowyn had begun making him carry, offering it to her. “I am sorry. I should not have spoken of such things to you.”

“No. No, do not apologize. I…I think you must be right, and that there are things I am better off not knowing firsthand, or even from reading about them in books.” She fell silent, and then looked up at him with sorrowful eyes, confessing, “I thought…I thought if I understood what it was like, then I would be better able to comfort my father and brothers. They…they sometimes have nightmares, and I know that it is because…”

He stepped toward her, catching her shoulder as she looked down, again wiping at tears. “It is kind of you to desire to help, but understanding will not aid you in that. It would only cause _you_ nightmares as well. You need only know that they saw horrors, and you can best help them by merely holding them, and speaking softly until the memory subsides again. Your touch and your nearness is all you may truly offer them in consolation.”

Almost without realizing she was speaking, she looked up at him and whispered, “And who holds you when the nightmares come upon _you_ , my lord?” She should have been embarrassed; she should have apologized for such a forward question, but she truly wanted to know.

He looked away and took a step back, turning again to gaze out over the Pelennor. At length, he answered quietly, “No one. Not any more. Until now, Eowyn has been there and that made it easier, but now…”

Some irrational part of her wanted to slip her arms around him and hold him, offer him comfort, but that was impossible. Instead, she just stood silently behind him, sorrowing for his aloneness, and wishing there was something she could do to ease it.

At length, he turned to look at her, and his face had become impassive. She had seen this before. Whenever strong emotions threatened to take him, he buried them under this mask so others would not see what he was feeling. It had happened several times when she was at Edoras for the funeral, and she had seen it again on their visit to the villages in the Eastfold. Now he drew the conversation in a different direction. “I am amazed,” he said quietly. When she cast a puzzled look at him, he grinned and added, “You have no book with you!”

Her face flushed and she looked away. She should have known he would return to mocking her; he seemed to take great delight in it. Stiffly, she retorted, “I cannot seem to please you! If I have a book I am censured, and likewise if I do not have one.” 

She turned on her heel, intending to head for home, but he caught her arm and drew her to a stop, then circled around so he was facing her. “Wait! I am sorry. I was only teasing you. I meant no offense, or censure, by my words.” She had not returned the handkerchief he had given her, and she used it to dab at her eyes, causing him to add, “Please, do not weep, Lothiriel! I would never wish to cause you pain.”

His words sent a thrill running through her, though she kept trying to tell herself they had no special significance. Cautiously, she looked up at him, and was unprepared for the expression he bore. There was no doubting his sincerity, but there was something more, though she could not quite define it.

The next moment, he stepped in close, and his hand lightly brushed some stray hair back from her face, causing her breath to hitch at his touch. They stood frozen, gazing at one another for several long moments, until a voice called out his name – her father. Eomer had his back to Imrahil, and was blocking her from view, so Lothiriel felt certain her father had not seen the moment that was passing between them. Reluctantly, Eomer stepped away, and turned to greet his friend.

“Oh, Lothiriel, I did not see you there,” her father acknowledged. “I was just going to invite Eomer to dine with us. Will you come, dearest?”

“Of course, Father,” she murmured, keeping her eyes lowered so he would not see her emotions reflected in them. _What had just happened? For an instant, she had almost thought Eomer intended to kiss her again, but surely she was mistaken – he did not think of her in that way…did he?_

The king and Imrahil were talking of some matter, though Imrahil absentmindedly offered his arm to her, and she moved to take it. They slowly made their way to the fifth level as the two men continued their discussion, and Lothiriel used the time to try and regain her equilibrium. Whatever had just transpired, she could only wait to see if Eomer pursued it at another time. And she suddenly realized that she very much hoped he would.

_TBC_

Caladael – “pool of light”  
Edre – “stream”  
Durraen – “dark wanderer”  
Theodhild – “people’s battle”  
Tortleoth – "bright song"


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Lothiriel wasn’t sure how she managed to get through the meal. She had a heightened awareness of the man sitting across from her, and though her father did not seem to notice, she very much suspected that Erchirion had. More than once his eyes had flicked between the two of them, a grin quirking at the corners of his mouth, though he suppressed it admirably. She desperately hoped he would not make some remark that would embarrass her or Eomer. If he wished to tease in private, and point out what a good match it was, she could endure that, but she would be mortified if he said anything to or in front of Eomer about her.

She didn’t quite know what to make of the fact that Eomer seemed perfectly at ease. She could discern no indication that he had been rattled by their earlier encounter, as she was, or that he might be eager to take up where he left off. _Did that mean that she_ had _read more into it than was there? Or was he just very calm under such circumstances and did not allow his nerves to show? What was he thinking? She would go mad wondering about all of this!_

None too soon, the meal ended, but Eomer excused himself and departed directly afterwards, saying he was expected by Elessar. Rather than risk having to listen to Erchirion, Lothiriel retreated to her room, where she could stew in solitude over the recent events. As she paced the room, she unconsciously put her hand in the pocket of her dress, and only then did she realize she had not returned the handkerchief to Eomer. Pulling it out, she examined it more closely.

It seemed an odd article for Eomer to be carrying. He did not strike her as the sort of man to use such a thing, but then, he was a king now, and perhaps had to behave more respectably in public. Even so, she giggled at the image of him actually making use of it. No, that was definitely _not_ how she pictured him in her mind! Carefully folding it, she tucked it back into her pocket, enjoying having that piece of him close to her.

As she realized her thought on the matter, she gave a snort. What a fool she was! This was preposterous! It could never work between them. He would never be attracted to someone like her, and she would be most unsuitable as a queen, and…and…for the first time ever she wished she had paid more attention to the lessons they had been trying to teach her all of her life. What was it Amrothos had said? _“If you know nothing about that sort of thing, it is not for lack of Father trying to see you are taught it. If you would just get your nose out of books once in a while, you might learn the proper skills a lady of your standing needs to have. The daughter of Dol Amroth’s prince would,_ should, _be eminently suitable to be a queen. More than any_ other _lady of high rank!”_

Only now did she see how correct he was. She _should_ be everything a king would want in his queen, but she had carefully avoided learning such things in favor of reading of other people and other places. Now that she might actually like to be a queen, though the prospect was still daunting, she hadn’t a clue how it was done. Queen Arwen made everything seem easy, but she was close to three thousand years of age, and an Elf as well. Lothiriel was not yet twenty-one years, and all too human. What could she offer a king? What could she offer a man?

She plunked down in the window seat, overcome with despair at her gloomy assessment of her prospects, and having quite convinced herself that Eomer would never want her. She spent the next few hours, staring out the window and berating herself for all that she lacked and all that she was not. She had never been one for weeping, but now she wept with regret for all the time she had wasted in her life.

A knock at her door drew her from her misery-laden reverie, and she reluctantly dried her eyes, blew her nose, and went to answer it. It was Erchirion, and he eyed her much too keenly. Trying to appear nonchalant, she turned away from him and pretended to be straightening her dresser as she asked, “What did you need, brother?”

He came in and stood beside her, watching her hands fuss over the articles on the dresser, without actually doing anything useful with them. At length, he reached out and captured her hands with one of his. When she glanced up into the mirror, meeting his gaze, he inquired quietly, “What troubles you, dearest? I have rarely seen you so agitated.”

She was on the verge of weeping once more, and very much did not want to do that in front of him. Trying to appear calm and unruffled, she assured him, “I am well. I am just eager for the wedding.”

“And you are a terrible liar!” he chastized. “Do not think me a fool, Lothiriel. Something is wrong. Will you not tell me? Perhaps I can help.”

His kindness undid her, and she flung herself into his embrace. “No, no there is nothing you may do! It is hopeless!”

He held her in silence, his brow furrowed. She had not been upset at dinner, so he could not think Eomer had done anything to cause this. Still, he knew his sister, and her imagination was quite lively. Possibly she had worked herself into this state without due cause. If that was so, then he would just have to steer her back on course. Eomer had already as much as admitted he cared for Lothiriel, and during the course of the winter, Erchirion had become convinced that she felt similarly toward him, though she had never owned to it. But how to bring them together? Eomer would resist matchmaking attempts, he felt certain, and Lothiriel was too inexperienced to know how to act on her own. Somehow, someway, he would have to bring them together, alone, long enough for them to reveal their feelings to one another.

Pressing a kiss to her brow as her tears subsided, he said softly, “Do not weep, dearest. I am sure you take a gloomy view of things. This should be a joyous time, for everyone. Now, do dry your eyes and let me see you smile. Come, we will go for a ride on the Pelennor. How does that sound?”

She didn’t tell him that horses now always made her think of Eomer, but getting some fresh air and exercise did sound appealing, so she nodded. 

“Good. Get changed and meet me downstairs.” He whistled a lively tune as he departed, not bothering to mention to her that he had passed Eomer on his way back to the house a short while ago, and been informed that the king was headed down to the Rohirrim camp to speak with his captain. If they happened upon the man while they were out riding, it wasn’t particularly by design, though Erchirion was going to make every effort to cause such a convenient ‘accident’!

Not until they were exiting the City, and Erchirion struck out on the road north, did Lothiriel become conscious that their course would take them past the Rohirrim encampment. Her stomach lurched briefly, until she reminded herself that likely Eomer was in meetings with King Elessar and nowhere on the Pelennor. She wasn’t sure whether that realization relieved or dismayed her. Either way, she was not entirely at ease the nearer they drew to it, especially when her brother suggested stopping for a visit to see if anyone they knew was present.

Not unexpectedly, they located Eothain, the captain of the king’s guard, and with him was the king himself, as Erchirion had been anticipating and Lothiriel had been dreading. If Eomer was surprised to see them, it did not show and he greeted them cordially, inquiring as to what led them there. Lothiriel listened in silence as Erchirion explained they were merely out for a little fresh air, and decided to stop since they were in the vicinity.

“Well, then, since you are here, perhaps I might have a word with you in private, Erchirion,” Eomer said, more a command than a request.

“Certainly!” Erchirion replied, jumping down from his horse and passing the reins over to Eothain. “Please excuse us for a moment,” he added, speaking in the general direction of his sister as he followed the king a short distance away.

Once they were out of sight behind a tent, Eomer wheeled on the Dol Amrothian and slanted a glare at him, growling, “I thought I told you to let this be!”

“Aye, you did!” Erchirion admitted cheerfully.

“Then you do not have a problem with your hearing?” Eomer inquired, with feigned curiosity.

“No, no. My hearing is fine. It is the ability to follow instructions that sometimes gives me difficulty.” He cocked an eyebrow at Eomer and said more pointedly, “Particularly when I am dealing with extremely stubborn friends. You are not attached, Eomer, and I have seen ample evidence to suggest that my sister would consider you. I have given you an opening. Will you not take it?”

Eomer was silent for several minutes, and then finally told him, “Be gone with you!”

Erchirion grinned in response. “I intended to do so. Shall my sister be able to find her way back to the City without me, do you think?”

Eomer swung a leisurely backhand at him, that was easy to sidestep, and laughing, Erchirion moved away. “All right! I am going!”

When they returned to where Eothain and Lothiriel waited, Erchirion took his horse’s reins and asked his sister, “Will you be all right for a little while if I go with Eothain? I have something of importance I wish to discuss with him.”

Her brow furrowed at the sudden departure, but before she could respond, Eomer spoke. “I would be happy to keep your sister company for a time, if she has no objections.”

Lothiriel’s stomach lurched again at these unexpected developments, but certainly she could not complain about time in Eomer’s presence, though she doubted it would do much to improve his opinion of her. “No,” she murmured, with embarrassment, “I do not mind.”

Erchirion wasted no time in moving off, taking Eothain with him, and Lothiriel sat awkwardly, wondering what she should do now. A moment later, Eomer had come to her side, gazing up at her with a smile. “Shall you dismount? I believe I can find some sort of refreshment for us.”

She nodded, unable to squeak out a response, and began to disentangle her skirts from the sidesaddle, but abruptly Eomer reached up, caught her by the waist and easily lifted her down in one quick motion. She gave a small gasp of astonishment, which stuck in her throat as she landed on her feet, trapped between him and the mare. His nearness was unnerving, and she found it difficult to breathe. She couldn’t be certain, but it almost seemed as though he was aware of her reaction, and was enjoying it. Evil man!

At length, he casually stepped back and offered her his arm, and she hesitantly took it as an esquire moved forward to take charge of her horse. Eomer guided her to a nearby tent. Inside, there was a table and single chair, but another servant appeared with a barrel that he placed at the table also. Once Eomer saw her seated in the chair, he plunked down on the barrel and spoke to the man in Rohirric. The servant nodded and disappeared, returning moments later with a bottle of wine and a couple of mismatched mugs that he set upon the table, before leaving once more.

The king eyed the mugs and then grinned at her. “My apologies for the lack of grandeur! But the wine will taste just as well no matter the vessel we drink it from.” He reached for the bottle and worked the stopper out, then poured some of the liquid for each of them. Slowly, Lothiriel took the mug he offered to her, but before she could take a swallow, he lifted his slightly in her direction, saying, “To my lovely visitor.”

She blushed, murmured a soft ‘thank you’ and hastily took a drink. Eomer drank also, and then sat staring down into the mug, lost in thought. At length, he rose and paced around the small enclosure, seeming to search for words. His apparent agitation put her on edge as well and she sat stiffly, waiting to hear what he had to say.

“My lady…Lothiriel,” he began, then paused to judge her reaction to his informality. She gave no indication of disapproval, merely eyeing him curiously, so he continued, “I…I fear you may have misunderstood my intention during your visit to Rohan. I was not mocking your fondness for reading, but merely teasing you about it. Forgive me. It is the sort of thing I would do with Eowyn, and I meant no offense by it.”

Her brow knit at this unexpected apology, and she couldn’t think how to respond to it. Still, he seemed to have more he wished to say as he continued to struggle for words. “Your brother –”

“Eomer? Are you there?” They both blinked and turned toward the unexpected interruption. It was Eowyn, calling from the tent flap, and he went to admit her.

“Oh, Lady Lothiriel. I did not realize you were here also,” Eowyn acknowledged upon sighting her. “Am I intruding?” She eyed her brother with a raised eyebrow.

Again hiding his thoughts behind that impassive mask, he shook his head. “Not at all. Erchirion and Lothiriel were out for a ride, and stopped to visit. He has gone off somewhere with Eothain, so I offered her refreshment.”

Something in Eowyn’s eyes said she did not entirely believe this explanation, but she refrained from questioning him further. Instead, she told them, “Faramir and I were doing the same, as it is such a lovely day. Shall you ride with us?”

It wasn’t what Eomer had in mind to do, but declining might raise Eowyn’s suspicions further. A glance at Lothiriel made him think she was not overly eager, either, but it could not be helped. Their conversation must wait until another time. He smiled inwardly – Erchirion would just have to find him a new opportunity! If the man was determined to play matchmaker, then Eomer would let him put in all the effort, and save him the trouble!

Lothiriel set down her mug and rose, accepting Eomer’s offered arm to escort her outside. Faramir was waiting with the horses, and did not appear particularly surprised at seeing his cousin coming toward him. An esquire was already bringing Lothiriel’s horse, and Eomer gave him instructions to fetch Firefoot as well. While they waited, Eowyn explained Lothiriel’s presence to her betrothed, and then they decided to ride toward the Harlond when all were mounted. Eomer had assisted Lothiriel onto her horse, and for a brief instant, their eyes met. She wasn’t sure why, precisely, but she very much suspected this was not his preference. _What had he been about to tell her before Eowyn arrived?_ She hoped he would have the chance to say it later.

Despite not being alone with Eomer, Lothiriel considered it a pleasant outing, and too soon they were returning to the City to ready themselves for supper. Uncharacteristically, Lothiriel took more note of what she wore, as the two families of the wedding couple were to dine together in the Steward’s house. Caladael pulled forth a green silken dress from her wardrobe and laid it on the bed, efficiently setting out accessories to go with it. She had not bothered to ask Lothiriel her opinion, as the lady never desired to offer one, but in truth, Lothiriel thought the woman had excellent taste. The gown was beautiful, and was very appropriate to honor the Rohirrim, as well as being apt for spring. 

She allowed her hand to run lightly over the material, involuntarily wondering what Eomer would think of it. At the thought, she inhaled slightly – she was doing it again. This must stop! She could not spend all this time mooning over him like some silly child. If she truly had feelings for him, then she must behave in a manner befitting the daughter of a prince – in a way that would make him consider her as his queen. Part of her was saddened by that notion. She was not opposed to improving herself, but why did it feel so… _weak_ , to give in to pressure to be other than she was. Could he not appreciate her good qualities now rather than wanting her to change? Clearly the answer was no, for he, along with her entire family, had actively sought to make her see reason, and change to suit their view of how she should conduct herself. Suddenly, her cheerful mood at the prospect of the evening was dampened, and she lethargically allowed Caladael to see her attired.

Erchirion arrived to escort her this time, and his eyes narrowed at her subdued demeanor. It had been most vexing to discover that Eowyn and his cousin had turned up, interfering with his efforts to bring Eomer and Lothiriel together. Well, he did not intend to be thwarted. He would see it done! He was utterly convinced they had formed an attachment for one another, and he would help them see and admit to it if it was the last thing he did. They both deserved such happiness, and he could not think of anyone who would disapprove of the alliance – well, other than perhaps the noblewomen of Gondor! Likely they would not appreciate having Eomer become unavailable as a marital prospect!

The meal was relaxed, with much laughter and conversation, though Lothiriel remained rather quiet. Erchirion was not the only one to notice; Eomer had readily noted her lackluster manner, so once the meal ended and they adjourned to the library for further socializing, he took the opportunity to slip close to her. Coming to stand beside her, where she stood gazing off the balcony, he quietly asked, “You seem out of spirits, my lady. Did the outing overtax you?”

She noted that he had gone back to a formal address; she had rather liked it when he had earlier called her by name. All of a sudden, she decided to be honest with him, trying not to consider what the ramifications might be from doing so.

“I am. I have noticed lately that everyone seems determined to change me to something they deem more suitable. Apparently, they do not consider me sufficient as I am!” She defiantly lifted her chin, but she couldn’t quite meet his eyes, afraid of what she might see there.

It made her uncomfortable when he did not immediately respond, but at length he answered quietly, “If I have had part in that, then you have my apologies. I have always found you quite acceptable, just as you are. My only concern has ever been that you lose yourself in reading rather than in living. Reading has its place but, as I said before, it is not the substance of life. And I would not have you miss out on all the possibilities it holds for you.”

His words stunned her, and took her breath away. Could it be true? Did he truly think her satisfactory as she already was? Emotion welled in her at the prospect, and a tear slipped out against her will. Before she could reach to wipe it away, his hand came up and did it for her. His voice was warm and husky as he enjoined her, “Do not change merely for change’s sake, Lothiriel. If you alter who you are, do it because you wish it. I see nothing wanting in you; indeed, I find you quite desirable.”

She gasped and looked up into his face, seeking confirmation that he spoke the truth, but there was no dissemblement there. Her breath lodged in her throat, and she wasn’t sure how to react. In the next moment, however, he leaned and brushed a kiss over her lips. “Yes, very desirable,” he murmured, causing a radiant smile to break forth on her face.

A noise just then reminded them that they were not alone, though strangely no one seemed to be making any effort to draw them back into the library and the conversation there. From where they were standing, they could not see that Erchirion had stationed himself in such a way as to be able to redirect any who attempted approaching them.

Drawing their attention back to each other, Lothiriel turned her face up to Eomer once more, and this time he drew her close into his embrace, offering a more acceptable kiss, tender and lingering. She reveled in the sensations it sent shooting through her, and her arms crept up around his neck. When at last they broke the contact, they remained wrapped in each other’s arms.

Neither spoke until an idle notion drifted through Lothiriel’s thoughts. “There are few books in Rohan,” she remarked.

“I shall travel far and wide to purchase all the books you desire!” he vowed, sealing the promise with another kiss.

As they parted once more, she smiled up at him. “I am not sure that is wise! Likely I will not have as much time for reading. I will be too busy writing my own story…with you!”

_THE END_

2/16/08 – 4/24/08

Caladael – “pool of light”  
Edre – “stream”  
Durraen – “dark wanderer”  
Theodhild – “people’s battle”  
Tortleoth – "bright song"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**Hope you enjoyed this! Next up is a shorter multi-chapter story. It began as a very short one-shot and then got expanded another 3 chapters. The initial story is called Storms, and the rest is called Silver Lining. It will begin posting on Wed., Sept. 30.** _


End file.
